


Cowboys & City Boys

by satanic_panic



Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Cattle Drives, Cowboys, Established Relationship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Opposites Attract, Reader-Insert, Rodeo Competitions, cowboy reader, the only gendered word is cowboy btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_panic/pseuds/satanic_panic
Summary: Byers has a significant other, who just so happens to be a cowboy, but nobody knows that except him; so what happens when The Lone Gunmen decide to follow them after a surprise visit to Byers? What do they uncover about his mysterious significant other?
Relationships: John Byers/Reader, John Fitzgerald Byers/Reader
Kudos: 1





	Cowboys & City Boys

Byers was in a relationship, which honestly surprised everyone, including the infamous Fox Mulder and his partner Dana Scully, the news even shocked Walt Skinner when he caught word of it; but the thing was, nobody had ever met Byers' significant other, no one had any clue what they looked like or what they sounded like, as whenever Byers dared to video call them, it was late at night, and he would always escape to his little room in the office and close the door. But Langly and Frohike and Jimmy did find it a little suspicious that Byers' significant other was away for weeks at a time, sometimes even a month or two, they did find it a little suspicious, and that didn't help when they heard the sound of horse's hooves outside one morning; they rushed outside, looking in confused wonderment as you climbed off of your horse, a black Mustang gelding, and hitched it up beside the van, tipping your cowboy hat and smiling. 

Dark brown, mud stained, cowboy boots; dark blue jeans; a light blue denim shirt; a lightweight brown jacket; a black bandanna tied around your neck. The poor journalists almost wondered if they were experiencing some sort of hallucination, but then you opened your mouth, and they knew that what they were seeing was very much real. 

"Howdy," you lit up a cigarette, patting your horse on the neck before turning to them. "Y'all know where I can find John Fitzgerald Byers?" 

Frohike was the one to speak up, a little apprehensive as he frowned, looking you up and down to try and gauge how easy it would be to take you down if he needed to. "Depends, what do you want with him?" 

"Well, shit," you chuckled, your cigarette hanging out of your mouth as you took your hat off and pressed it against your chest. "Where are my manners? I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)." 

The three men shared a look, Jimmy wasn't really convinced of the suspicion, but he knew that Langly and Frohike certainly were. 

"So you're the infamous (y/n)?" Langly asked, noticing the belt buckle you had on, a large metal plate engraved with a Mustang horse and your family's name and ranch around the rim. 

You nodded, quickly finishing your cigarette before tossing it onto the ground and grinding your heel on it. "Infamous? Well, shit, I dunno about that, but… that’s my name.” 

Langly looked over at Frohike with a frown, shaking his head as subtly as he could, but then Jimmy just had to walk over to your horse, gently laying his hand on its neck as he smiled. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Oh, him?” You chuckled, coming to stand beside the journalist as you shrugged. “Cash, y’know, like Johnny Cash?” 

“Cash,” Jimmy smiled, nodding. “And you rode him all the way here?” 

“Yessir,” you nodded back, putting your hat back on and clearing your throat. “We ain’t used to the cities but, y’know, a cowboy’s gotta do what a cowboy’s gotta do.” 

“Well, I’m Jimmy,” he grinned, offering you his hand and enthusiastically shaking it when you gave yours up to him. “Jimmy Bond.”

You were a little uneasy as you pulled back, a little caught off guard at the eager and enthusiastic reaction as you finally took in his appearance; he didn’t seem that much older than you, maybe a year at most, maybe not even that, maybe around six months. But he seemed friendly enough as you chuckled nervously and curtly nodded at him. “Pleasure t’meet you, Jimmy.” 

Bouncing back over to his associates, Jimmy cleared his throat and straightened his posture, he pointed to Frohike first. “This is Frohike, he’s a bit grumpy but he’s good.” 

“Frohike,” you noted, glad to put a face to the name at last. 

“And this is Langly,” Jimmy declared, laying a hand on Langly’s shoulder and tilting his head slightly to the side. “Don’t make fun of his hair.” 

You made a note to never do that, despite the fact that you wouldn’t anyway, but nevertheless you were once more glad to be able to put faces to the names you had heard your boyfriend mention so many times; but you kicked at a few loose pieces of concrete on the floor, clearing your throat and rubbing the back of your neck. 

“So, uh, y’all wanna tell me where I can find John?” 

“Right through that door,” Jimmy told you, not quite noticing the fact that Frohike and Langly were a lot less than keen to answer your question. 

You tipped your hat to them, reaching into the satchel that hung from your shoulder and pulling out an apple, you tossed it to Jimmy with a wink. “Keep an eye on ol’ Cash for me, would ya?” 

“Sure!” He beamed, nodding quickly and eagerly as you walked on through to the solid door of the office; you knocked a few times before discovering that it was unlocked, so you dared to pull down on the handle and allow yourself in, clearing your throat as you caught a glimpse of Byers typing away on a computer. You laid your hat on a stack of newspapers, daring to admire him for a moment before you cleared your throat.

“Well, if it ain’t my favourite city boy, lookin’ like the prettiest goddamn thing I ever did see.”

Flinching a little, Byers turned around to face you, his jaw falling slack for a moment before he quickly made his way over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug as he closed his eyes and leaned his chin on your shoulder, letting you hold onto his waist as he murmured your name softly, muffled against your coat. It made you smile as you bowed your head a little and tilted it just enough to press your temple against his; you had not seen him for weeks, out on a cattle drive across country, spending your last little bit of free time with him seemed like a good idea. 

Pulling away, Byers sucked in a harsh breath, hardly able to keep the smile from his face as he did his best not to grin, not to become utterly breathless over the mere fact that here you were, in the flesh, you were right there with him and he almost couldn’t believe it; but then again, he could never believe it when he saw you, spending so much time apart that he could almost never remember the last time he had seen you in the flesh… it was a lot to take in, and as he pulled away to keep you at arm's length, he looked you up and down, all Byers could do was grin so daftly. “What- what are you- what are you doing here, (y/n)? I thought you, you had that cattle drive?” 

You shrugged, scratching the side of your nose before letting out a sniffle and clicking your tongue. “Y’know me, John, you know that I wanted to see you, and I… I kept tellin’ myself that I ain’t stoppin’ til I see your face, I ain’t gonna take no notice of red lights, I’ll run ‘em on Cash. I needed to see you, I fuckin’ needed to see you so goddamn badly, I ain’t been able to sleep much lately ‘cause… ‘cause I missed you so fuckin’ much and it ain’t right that a cowboy should go without who they’re fond of for so long, and it ain’t right that I can feel the devil on my goddamn shoulder when you’re not around, when I ain’t with you ‘cause I missed you so fuckin’ much.” 

"You're not staying, are you?" The way his voice was on the very edge of breaking, how he frowned and his eyes darkened with clouds of sadness that turned cyan to cobalt, how he pouted and swallowed thickly, it was enough to bring any cowboy to their knees; but he knew what the price of loving a cowboy was, he knew that things were far from perfect apple pie and white picket fences, and he made peace with it. He made peace with cherishing and savouring every single second he was able to hold you and to see you. 

You licked your lips, letting out a groan and shaking your head, reluctant to be the bearer of bad news, reluctant and hesitant to disappoint the one man you loved like that, after all, it was not as if you got much time together, with him always working on his newspaper - which you always bought in town and read whenever you could, you had to admit, your man had quite the talent - and you spending more and more time on cattle drives thanks to your father refusing to let you do it the modern way and insisting you do it the old way, with a horse and a lasso, it was not as if you could see Byers every day, and you did regret it a lot, you always regretted not being able to see him, just as now you deeply regretted having to leave so soon, having to leave without spending so much as a day with him, and you knew that that regret would soon enough fester in your bones and cause you to break one day; you were about to open your mouth to speak when the door opened, and Langly and Frohike walked in, looking very much the opposite of pleased. 

"Alright, cowboy," Langly ran a hand through his hair as he squared up to you, putting on a brave face as he clenched his jaw. "What's your deal here? Who are you working for?" 

You could understand the suspicion, you couldn't deny that you would have reacted any other way, which was why you gently pressed a sweet kiss to Byers' cheek; suspicion was something you were used to, suspicion was an old friend that felt like home and told you so much - suspicion only went away when you were in the saddle, guiding a herd of cattle to the latest auction, the latest farmer’s market to be sold off. You wouldn’t even try to dispute Byers’ friends’ suspicion of you - after all, a cowboy had just walked into their office to see Byers, completely unannounced - of course it was suspicious, of course you couldn’t blame them for not welcoming you with open arms and warm hugs and soft and tender words. 

“I best get goin’, but, uh, I’ll see you soon, city boy…'' you paused to grab your hat, sparing a soft glare at Byers for what you thought would be the last time for a good old while; you weren’t really sure what else to say, a sad smile on your face - you didn’t need to put him in such an uncomfortable position, but you knew you did, and for that, you always feel remorse. You adjusted your hat, clearing your throat. “I’ll miss ya, for what it’s worth, I really will fuckin’ miss you, so much.” 

“(y/n), wait-” Byers attempted to call out to you, to get you to stop, but the door closed with a heavy groan and all he could do was to frown and sigh, shaking his head. He wanted you to stay, he really did, he wanted to show you his favourite parts of the city and tell you all about what he had gotten up to since you last spoke; he wanted you to stay, but he knew now that he wouldn’t be able to get you to; deep down, Byers knew that some cowboys rode alone, he knew that you rode in the night just he knew that you did not drown in the warmth of home until you would crash in your own bed. Groaning, Byers sat on the sofa and held his head in his hands. 

Not long after you had left, perhaps five or ten minutes at most, Langly and Frohike questioned Byers immensely for a moment, and unable to explain what you did for a living and why you were gone for so long all the time; it wasn’t as if he didn’t know what you did for a living, he knew you were a cowboy and went out on cattle drives for weeks on end depending how far away they were, just as he knew that some of them only took a day or two, but it wasn’t that easy to explain - what what he supposed to do? Admit to Langly and Frohike that his significant other was a cowboy? How was he going to explain that? How was he going to explain that you would ride around like they did in old Western films? How was he going to explain that you looked for rattlesnakes behind every door? He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain anything. And that killed him, knowing that he couldn’t defend you, he couldn’t stick up for you right when he had the moment to do so, right when he knew he needed to. 

When Jimmy came back in, a little disheartened from having watched you go before grabbing coffee from around the corner, he wasn’t quite sure what to say; his associates, his friends, were all gathering their clothes and their equipment as if they were planning on a trip that would last more than a day - he asked if there was a job, if there was something to investigate, what they were looking out for and where, but nobody answered his questions. He wasn’t sure whether or not to say anything in case it was absolutely nothing and he was just being an idiot, but Jimmy knew that something was very much off, something was very much wrong; even when he clambered into the back of the van, the silence between the other three men was like the agonising scream of a banshee, and poor Jimmy wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. 

Frohike was driving this time, which definitely wasn’t right, Byers sulking in the passenger seat with his jaw clenched and his gaze out of the window, he looked sad as Langly sat in the back with Jimmy, already on his laptop and typing away but he wasn’t hacking anyone or anything, which Jimmy knew was very much off. 

“Hey, guys, where are we going?” Jimmy asked eventually, looking around at the trio. 

“We’re tailing that cowboy we met earlier,” Frohike told him, sparing a glance through the rear view mirror. “Langly and I aren’t convinced they are who they say they are.” 

Byers rolled his eyes at that, huffing out a sigh that left a patch of fog on the window as he rested his chin on his own hand; it was plain to see that he wasn’t exactly on board and supportive of what was going on. “(y/n) isn’t some… some politician with a mistress and a baby, Frohike, trust me - I know them. I know they- they wouldn’t do anything.” 

『••✎••』

At some point, while approaching a ranch after driving what seemed like days and trying to not complain too much about the aches and pains, the Gunmen had lost sight of you; they knew what they had to do, splitting up and searching the grounds for something, anything, someone, anyone, they knew that they had to split up and look around - but even though they were sure they had combed the entire ranch, they weren’t exactly one-hundred percent sure that they had gotten the right ranch and maybe missed a turn here or there along the way somewhere. Maybe they followed the wrong Mustang horse. All they wanted was to just talk to you, to get the run-down on what your game was, what exactly you had planned, all they wanted was a quick little chat, but none of them wanted to find you more than Byers did; so when they approached the sheep pen out near the West end of the ranch, they knew that they had found you, or at least, they had hoped of it. An old broken down and completely and utterly useless truck, the front half of it was a pale rusted red, no windows, scratches and dents wrecked the red paint that was clearly flaking off; the back was a dark blue, the colour of faded jeans, mud and dirt and rust and dust coated in and hid the once vibrant colour, scratches dotted around on the body; the wheels were pale brown and flat, the door handles broken and falling apart from rust. It certainly was not a truck that was used for driving. But leaning against the front half, your back pressed against the scraps of red, no doubt the flakes of rusted red were clinging onto the back of your light brown jacket the same way that koala bears clung onto trees, your legs were stretched out along the back, crossed at the ankle, boots glimmering in the sunshine with fresh dirt on them, your blue jeans stained with yellow and light brown dusty mud, your hat was tipped forward slightly, covering your eyes to protect them from the sun, to keep the sun from blinding you, your hands folded on your stomach, a cigarette hanging from your lips and puffs of smoke coming from your mouth. The Lone Gunmen watched you for a moment, no one really sure how to take that first step of talking to you, of explaining why and how and what they were doing at the ranch - sure, it might have sounded easy to say, but did any of them really know what it would have sounded like to admit to following someone all the way home just out of sheer suspicion? Absolutely not. But then you looked over, pushing your hat back just enough to uncover your eyes, and when you saw Byers stood rather uncomfortably next to his associates, his colleagues, his friends, you grinned, losing your balance and falling onto the ground with a soft thud and a cloud of yellow; your cigarette was abandoned on the floor, crushed beneath your own body as you struggled to get up again, slipping on dry dirt as you scrambled to run over, holding onto your hat as you kicked up pale yellow dust clouds behind you, crashing into him when you were close enough. 

“Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw!” You laughed, breathless as you held onto Byers tightly, your arms around his shoulders and your face buried in the side of his neck, you never wanted to let go, you never wanted to part again; the life of a cowboy was lonesome at the best of times, but when you couldn’t see the one person you wanted to be with every single day and every single hour… lonesome came to seem like a bit of an understatement - lonesome was what you often said when you were missing on him, but it was more than that, it was as if your soul had been ripped from your chest and thrown into the dirt, stamped on with heavy boots and spat on with a curse, cigarette ash on the remains. Lonesome was so much of an understatement. You pulled away, chuckling as you looked between the four men, grinning madly, you took your hat off, pressing it against your chest with one hand as you sighed and tried to catch your breath. “Fuck, where’s my manners?” You shook your head, taking a step back and, with your free hand, grasping your belt just to the side of the buckle. “Why don’t y’all come inside? The house ain’t too far from here.” 

The four shared a look, Langly and Frohike a little bit apprehensive and reluctant and hesitant to just blindly follow you, especially when they saw the revolver strapped to your hip, Byers would have followed you to the ends of the earth and all the back and then gone on to follow you through the heavens and into the depths of Hell had you asked, but he knew that he was obliged to stick with his friends this time; Jimmy, however, felt no such apprehension, nor reluctance, nor hesitation, and did not seem to notice the gun in the holster on your hip as he grinned and nodded, shrugging and daring to speak up for the group. 

“We’d love to!” He stopped to look at his friends, frowning a little, pleading with his eyes as he pouted ever so slightly. “Right, guys?” 

Byers was more than ready to follow you, already his hand brushing against yours as he took a stand beside you, licking his lips and nervously shuffling the pale yellow dusty grass beneath his shoes, coating the hickory coloured leather in flaxen dust, waiting for Frohike and Langly to agree, hoping that they would, pleading silently to every single deity he knew of that they would agree, that they would accept the offer and let Byers go with you. He had been to the ranch once or twice, a few times but not nearly enough to be able to tell where everything was, a few times but not nearly enough to know all the details or the layout, he had hated the ranch the first time he had visited - it had been storming outside, and the once flaxen ground was soggy and amber, dark brown clumps of mud had stained the ends of his trousers and he had fallen over more than once, staining one of his best shirts and blazers, wrecking one of his favourite ties. But now it was sunny and temperate, not hot enough for shirtless work, but not cold enough for heavy and thick coats, either; fuck, Byers really hoped his associates would agree to going to the house. 

“Alright,” Frohike agreed with an incredibly reluctant nod. 

Langly was more apprehensive, his childhood growing up on that farm had been far from great, and even now, as he stood on the grounds of a ranch, he could still remember the way his father had shouted and screamed at him, how he could never do anything right in his family’s eyes, how every single little thing he did on the farm was wrong; he didn’t want to go through all of that all over again, to relive every single bad memory of his childhood days with strangers, but as he swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, he knew that he might as well have gone along with it - after all, everyone else seemed on board with it, Byers especially. “Okay, fine - but if you try anything, cowboy-”

“I won’t,” you reassured with a curt nod, smiling kindly at him before looking at Byers, sparing him a glance, still unable to believe that he was truly there with you, beside you, still unable to believe that he had come all of this way and had seemingly dropped everything - it made you want to smile as you fixed your posture and gestured for the men to follow you. “Right this way, fellers.” 

With the exception of Byers, they all fell into step behind you, although he was much more inclined to be beside you, to allow his fingers to ghost yours every now and then as he gave you a pleading, pining look, as he let out a soft sigh; he didn’t want to admit it, not here, not now, he didn’t want to admit it until he was certain you were actually alone together, that you were just his and he was just yours and there was no-one around to distract or to interrupt and there were no chances of some unfortunate event pulling you away from him - but, honestly? Byers had missed you dearly, and he was glad to be able to so much as walk beside you; every time he saw the shadow of houses, blackened houses drowned out by the darkness of night, he thought of you. The morning skies played on his mind too much, every time his mind drifting to you, the pale blue mixing with the dull pale pink and the white clouds. April showers almost always took away from that, though, even if he could see June in your eyes - he could see the breathtaking sights of summer within them every time you looked at him. He remembered the first time he saw you cry, so upset after you had lost a rodeo competition and ended up having to pay more than what your entry fee was, cursing yourself so harshly - but they were soon replaced by the will to fight, the loss of a temper, a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. They were awfully fond memories, Byers would not lie about that, he would never deny it, but nobody could know about that but you - he didn’t want anyone else to revel in the warmth of those memories, which he knew was deeply selfish, but he couldn’t help it. And every time your hand brushed against his, it sent a shock through him that made him force back his smile, sparing a pining glance at you. Right now, that’s all Byers wanted the most: some time, alone, with you and no one else around, no one to disturb, no one to interrupt, no one to change the conversation, he just wanted to be alone with you, even if for a few moments, even if for just enough time to tell you that he loved you. 

You were quite content and pleased with the fact that Byers had decided to walk beside you as opposed to in front of you or behind you, you were quite happy to gently run your fingertips along the side of his every now and then as you did your best to keep your eyes on where you were going; you would gladly and loudly admit it, wherever you were, to whoever was within hearing distance, you would admit it until your lungs gave out and your throat became raw and wrecked with a hoarse voice, you would exclaim and proclaim and scream and shout it until you could no longer do so; but honestly? You had missed Byers dearly, so very dearly, and you could hardly contain the spring in your step as he walked beside you; every night, you would get up on the highest hills and look over at the glistening lights in town, wondering if your city boy was thinking of you, bright yellow and orange lights that painted the town. The morning skies played on your mind, but not too much, every time you would think of Byers, though, the pale blue always reminding you of his eyes and how beautiful they were. April showers made you grin, April showers made you think of the first time he had come to the ranch and got so covered in mud. You remembered, fondly, the first time you sat up on the rooftop with him, smoking a cigarette and telling him everything and anything that came to mind, you could recall those pointless conversations as if they were so profound, they always meant the world to you, they always meant every little scrap of worth to you. They were disgustingly fond memories, you could never lie about that, you would never even try and deny it, you didn’t care who knew, you didn’t care who thought what of them - you knew that no one could quite revel in the warmth of those memories the way that you did late at night and throughout the dawning hours. And every time you brushed your hand against his, you could see the shock that went through him like a shot of whisky down the throat, you could see how he forced back his smile, sparing a glance at you that you pretended not to notice. You really hoped that he would stay for more than a few hours. 

The closer you drew to the house, the more tempted you grew to grab Byers’ hand and hold it tightly, but when you heard a baying hound, a mongrel dog in the distance, you dropped to your knees, and when the mutt - a large dog with perked up floppy ears and a light brown coat with a black splodge on his back - came running over, his green bandanna tied securely around his neck, you smiled, letting the dog barrell into you. 

“Hey there, Ennis,” you grinned, scratching the dog behind the ears and chuckling to yourself when he stamped his paw in the dirt. “How you doin’, buddy?”

The dog tried to lick your face, forcing you to push him off so you could stand and pat his side heavily, which only made his tail wag faster as he ran in a circle for a moment before letting out an eerie and deep bark that was somewhere between a woof and a howl. The dog seemed to recognise Byers, sniffing at his shoes for a second before headbutting his leg to ask for a pet or two or three or several or however many he could get. 

“Don’t mind him,” you said to the other three men with a smile. “Ennis might look like a killer, but he’s soft as a teddy bear made of velvet.” 

The dog was eager to lead everybody back to the house, trotting ahead but turning back with a wagging tail and a brainless expression, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, just to make sure that everybody was following him; the house itself wasn’t too grand, one floor with around six bedrooms, a small kitchen, living room, a fairly large porch in the front, a rickety old case of stairs sat at the front of the porch itself, and as you paused at the front door, you smiled. The dog ran in through his own little flap in the front door, disappearing with a bark before you turned to your companions, biting at your lip and raising a brow. 

“Come on in, I’m pretty sure dinner’s just about done.”

『••✎••』

Introductions were short, your father and grandmother were curt but kind, hospitable but not the types for conversation just yet, and while they did offer the men a place to stay, your father was very much insistent that Byers stay in a separate room, but he did agree for you to take Byers out on a short drive in the morning; it wasn’t going to be a far one, just taking the cattle to a certain field for a day to allow them to graze somewhere different as you did from time to time. But for the life of you, you could not sleep, deeply troubled and hiding away beneath your duvet, increasing isolation bubbling in frustration as you tossed and turned and did your best to not succumb to the Hell of insomnia - but while you continued to be possessed by that insufferable demon, you knew that you would not get to sleep, although you did hope. You ran a hand through your hair, sighing oh so heavily, shaking your head and checking the clock on your bedside table, it read twenty to two in the morning, which made you growl softly as you realised that sleep would not come tonight; you went to your chest of drawers, pulling out the tobacco and the papers and the filters, quickly rolling yourself a cigarette before you made your way outside, the cold air hitting your face with a harsh howl, making you wince as you struggled to fight against the wind and to light your cigarette; but once it was done, you sat down with a burdensome sigh. Perhaps it was excitement. Perhaps nervousness. Perhaps it was just your old demonic friend insomnia making an appearance. 

“Fuck me…” you grumbled, the two words coming out in a cloud of smoke, pale grey against the blackness of the early-hour sky, when you looked up, you could see the moon; the very same moon you often looked up at night when you were out on cattle drives, wondering if Byers was looking at it, too, wondering if he was thinking of you as much as you had been thinking of him. You thought of him so much on those drives; the strange roads and sights you had not seen before, hoping to one day show them to him, the way the night could be just as hot as the day or even twice as cold always made you think about how he would have told you to have worn something more appropriate for the weather, but the dead of night, watching the moon and the stars, gazing up at them… they were what made you think of him the most - they were what always brought him to your mind regardless of where you were. Every pub, every saloon, every goddamn place that would serve you was always packed with a hundred and one people who were just waiting for a lonesome cowboy to wander in, but you never spared them so much as a glance, you never looked at them for more than a split second, you never so much as thought about even trying to get free drinks - and you always knew why, you always knew that no matter how lonesome and how isolated you were from him, your heart had always and would always belong to Byers. 

You started to think back to your past relationships, how they had failed, how you had failed your significant other at the times, how you had never been good enough, rich enough, smart enough, how you never had a good enough job, how you were never around to take them out on fancy dates, how you could never properly please them; thinking about it made your chest feel tight, as if your lungs had shrunk at least three sizes, going down to the size of beans, and all you could do was hang your head, puffing on your cigarette with short and shallow breaths, letting the rain fall from your eyes as you realised that it would only be a matter of time before Byers left you for any one of those reasons; you weren’t good enough for him, you were far from rich, you weren’t smart enough to keep up with him, you were a cowboy not a… a doctor or a lawyer, you were hardly ever around to go on fancy dates with him and pay for it, you could never properly please him, you would never be enough. No matter what you did, you would never actually be good enough. And it was only going to be a matter of time before he realised that; granted, he often spoke about the same worries and woes - telling you that he wasn’t sure if he could treat you the way that you deserved; Byers often spoke about how he felt he wasn’t good enough for you, that he wasn’t rich enough to do half of the things he wanted to do with you, to go half of the places he wanted to take you, that he was certain you deserved someone smarter than he was - after all, he always said that he was stupid enough to quit his government job to chase conspiracy theories with his friends whilst running a newspaper that only just and just managed to scrape by, investigative journalist wasn’t exactly a high-paying job either, and he always did regret that he didn’t have the money to take you to the finer places in town when you were around. Yes, even Byers spoke of the same insecurities you had, but you knew that he was good enough, he was more than good enough, he was more than that, and you knew that you would never deserve to have him in your life, let alone as your boyfriend. No, you didn’t deserve Byers at all, no matter what anyone said. 

Tossing your cigarette out into the wild, you let out a heavy sigh, attempting to catch your breath as you bit at your lip. The night was cold, the wind roaring outside as the rain punched at the windows and caused the glass to yowl in protest; in order to shut the door that opened out onto the side of the house from the shed, you had to tug it harshly with both hands, the hinges squealing in protest. But it was fine, now, everyone was asleep in the bedrooms, no one would ever know that you had just spent the last ten minutes sat against the door and grumbling and smoking. You really did hope that the redness and the mass of swelling of your eyes didn't show as you yanked the handkerchief from your pocket and blew your nose, groaning in disgust before sighing heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose; careful and quiet steps from hard concentration made you wince as you hoped they were really as quiet as you thought; you passed the bedroom where Jimmy was staying, he was sprawled out on his bed as you gently pulled the door closed. Frohike was right next door and, thankfully, his own was shut - the same went for Langly, although you could hear the distinct sound of muffled heavy metal songs sneaking in beneath the door. 

And then you came to Byers' room, swallowing thickly and trying to catch your breath as you gently pushed it open and cleared your throat.

"John!" came the harsh whisper. "John!" 

Stirring, Byers sat up and, weary, dared to look at you in the darkness of the late night. He frowned. His voice was hoarse and groggy, thick with sleep as he dared to rub his eyes; his hair was a mess, a complete stark contrast to how it normally looked, neatly combed and styled, sticking up this way and that; even in the low light, you could tell that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. "What are you doing awake?" 

He didn't waste any time in moving over on the bed, though, moving over on the single mattress as best as he could, making room for you as you crept in, shutting the door behind you softly; you wriggled beneath the duvet to get close to him; sure, you knew that you would never deserve him, that you would never be good enough - but why should that stop you from cherishing the time that you had together? Why should the knowledge of him inevitably dumping you once he realised you were little more than dirt on a boot stop you from treasuring what precious time you would have with him? 

"I couldn't sleep..." 

Byers sighed softly, nodding, knowing that insomnia was more than common with cowboys; he pulled you in close, your head on his chest, one hand on that spot between his ribs and just above his stomach, he dared to lay his arm around you, letting his fingers play with the hair at the nape of your neck as he let out a yawn. 

"It's okay, I got you." his voice was awfully tender. "I've got you, you can rest."

Granted, you were reluctant to fall asleep, too scared of wasting borrowed time, too fearful of waking up alone once more and finding out that the entire night had been little more than a harsh and too realistic dream, but even still, you could not help but to relax, to allow your jaw to unclench and your shoulders to drop their tension, you could not help but to hum softly as you clung on tightly to him; he had said that you could rest, and as much as you didn’t want to, you couldn’t help but to obey the tender command. 

『••✎••』

While you took Byers out with you on your horse, driving cattle to the next grazing spot, his colleagues-stroke-friends-stroke-business-partners all stayed at the ranch to talk to your family while you were out; there were a few stops to make along the way, a few places here and there to give the animals some rest, to give them some time to relax. During one of the stops, though, you noticed that Byers was looking at the holster on your hip, and with a slight grin, you brought the revolver from its holster, twirling it slightly and clearing your throat. 

“I need it for protection,” you explained, “coyotes, bears, cattle rustlers - y’know, the works.” 

Byers nodded slowly, a little intimidated by the presence of a weapon, he swallowed thickly; he never really liked guns, always leaning more towards hating them in all honesty, but he also knew that you did genuinely only need it for protection, plus he had to admit, it was kind of attractive how you twirled it so effortlessly. “I, I know…” 

You shot him a smile, fuck, Byers could swear that your smile was like a bullet that constantly hit him right in the centre of his heart, tipping your hat slightly before you shrugged and scratched at a spot at the back of your neck. “I could teach you, if you wanted me to - how to shoot, I mean, I could… I could teach you.” 

Byers kicked at the dirt for a second, unsure of how to answer, unsure if he really wanted to learn such a thing, but all the same, it was an excuse to be close, an excuse to have some physical contact that he missed so much when he was so often apart from you; surely he would not be so stupid as to pass up on such a brilliant opportunity? Surely, he would not be so idiotic as to turn down such an offer? 

Clearing his throat, Byers could not bite back the smile that came to his lips, his features cloaked in a light hazy pink shade, his face felt hot and he was pretty sure that it was not because of the heat, and he nodded. “Uh, I mean… uhm… okay.” 

“Alright, city boy,” with your unarmed hand, you slapped his shoulder with great confidence, grinning before you ran off to your horse and took out some soup cans; they were empty, not a single drop in them, and you did have the intention of recycling them, but why not but a few bullets in them, while you were at it? 

With great curious focus, Byers watched as you lined the cans up on a nearby rock, making sure - double, triple checking them - that they were the right amount of length apart, making sure that they were all level and unlikely to move; but then you came bounding back over to him, and he found himself smiling as he allowed you to push him into position, pressing the revolver into his hands. 

“Are you sure about this?” You asked with a soft hum, not wanting him to do something he was uncomfortable with, fuck, that was the last thing you ever wanted. Fuck, the thought of somehow upsetting Byers wrecked you, made you feel sick, made your throat feel raw and hoarse, made your head spin in the worst possible way, making the corners of your eyes seem dark and dull, causing you to shake your head to rid yourself of the feeling before you raised a brow at him and dared to smile fondly. “I mean, if you ain’t, I can put it all away, I can-” 

“I’m sure about it,” Byers reassured, although he wasn’t quite sure about it in all honesty; more than anything, he just wanted a decent enough excuse to feel your touch and to make up for all of the physical contact he had missed when you were away. That’s all he wanted, if he was honest and if he would admit it, all he wanted was to be close to you and to hold and to be held by you, that’s all he wanted, all he wanted was to make up for the lost time as if he were Benjamin Button looking at a pocketwatch and knowing that, for him, time was going backwards while everyone else was going forwards. Thinking back for a split second, it was you who had introduced him to that writer, to F. Scott Fitzgerald, you had given him your copy of ‘The Great Gatsby’ a long while ago, now, back when you had more free time than you did now, and he still kept it; he kept it in The Lone Gunmen’s office, he kept it in his wardrobe, hidden beneath his winter coat - he kept a couple of things of yours in his wardrobe, actually. Like one of your shirts, one of your shirts that had a pale red blood stain on the sleeve; you had fallen off of your horse - the white gelding with a few brown spots… Storm’s Ruin, he remembered the name to be - after it had gotten spooked by a small rattlesnake, a little diamondback… he patched you up that day, the only other person around, and he had hated every second of it due to the fact that you would wince and seethe when he applied the antiseptic, you would whine at the slight sting and he hated that, he hated putting you in pain. But he kept that shirt. He kept it in his wardrobe because it smelled like you, which was why he never wore it, and he never washed it, he simply kept it hung up on the door of his wardrobe, and from time to time, he did cuddle into it at night, falling asleep holding it tightly and burying his face against it. He kept it tucked away, right beside the postcard you had sent him, the postcard that hung by a drawing pin in the wood, the postcard that depicted the blue-grey mountains that loomed over and towered above, the blue-grey mountains that seemed larger than anything he had ever seen in his life, the snowy tips of the mountains, soft white snow against blue-grey rock, the bright blue skies above that he knew would be breathtaking if he actually saw them. Sometimes, he would read the back of the postcard, he would read your handwriting with such awe, the small message meaning more to him than one would have thought; it was far from poetry, far from words of wisdom and passion and rich with metaphors and similes, it was far from artistic language, just a few simple words that read: “from the city to the country, I’ll always love you.” He treasured the shirt, and the book, and the postcard as much as anything, more than everything, but as he let out a shaky sigh, holding the gun in his hands, he had a feeling that he would cherish the memory of this cattle drive just the same. 

You tutted softly, shaking your head fondly, moving to stand behind him, you placed your hands on his shoulders awfully tenderly. “You’re too tense, John, relax. It’s not a rattler, it ain’t gonna bite you.” 

Byers swallowed thickly, nodding as he allowed you to correct his stance, but then one of your arms coiled around his waist, tight but reassuring, secure but soft, and he could not help but to lean into the touch, especially when your other hand drifted down to his wrist, ghosting along his arm before gently holding onto his wrist. “Is, is this better?” 

“Much,” you smile, your voice hardly even above a whisper, breathy and low on his neck and making him blush that little bit more as you dared to press a sweet kiss to his skin. “Exhale when you pull the trigger, it’ll help.” 

He did as he was told, eyes going wide and his body tensing up as he froze at the large bang, the explosion that came from the smoking barrel; he had done it. He had actually shot the can, and when you realised, you howled in excitement, loud and echoing as you pulled away in order to smack his shoulder with such glee, such joy, such pride; you howled again before rushing in to kiss him, gripping his face and pulling him in, taking him off guard but he soon kissed back, holding onto the lapels of your brown jacket. The fabric balling into his hands, the zipper digging into the palm of his hand and making him itch slightly. But he still kissed back, he still kissed back until he was forced to pull away by his own lungs protesting, howling in his chest for air. He couldn’t shake the smile from his face, even the drive continued and he was sat behind you on your horse, arms wrapped around your waist and his chin on your shoulder, he still couldn’t stop smiling; even when you stopped in the early afternoon and told him that this was the spot, he still could not keep the smile from his face. The glee, the joy, the pride that you had been so captivated by when he had shot that revolver was something he would not forget any time soon… even if he had been a little scared at how loud it was. 

The hill you had stopped on was steep but the top of it was perfect, it gave you enough space from the cattle whilst also being able to keep an eye on them while they grazed, and the grass was a soft emerald colour, dry land beneath you yet the emerald blades were so plush, and the wind blew so gently that it was hard to imagine that the sun was blazing hot and horrible; the sun was making you lethargic, tired, it was dragging you down immensely, and while you watched Byers wander off to go look at this and that and the other, keeping an eye on him but knowing that he would not trail off somewhere out of your sight, knowing that he was too smart to get himself lost, you found a fallen tree - it laid on the ground, seemingly had done for years by the skeletal look of it, squashing the plush grass beneath it. You were so very tired, so very, very, tired. You shrugged off your jacket, laying it down in front of the tree and laying down on it, your neck propped up against the tree as you allowed one hand to rest on your stomach, the other going to your chest as you smiled a little to yourself; your hat fell forward, thankfully enough to keep the sun from your eyes, and you crossed your legs at the ankle, finding peace in the quietness of the top of the hill - but you still kept one eye open to watch Byers, nearly grinning when he wandered back over, sitting on the tree beside you for a moment before gingerly sliding down and sitting next to you. It didn’t take long before you shifted and moved around and shuffled about in order to lay your head in his lap, letting him drift one hand down to yours so that he could play with your fingers. His touch was so gentle, so soft, so tender, and although you did not see it, you knew that he was smiling, too. 

“Hey, John?” You could only mutter, only just about mumbling, not wanting to disturb the peace too much, not wanting to cut through it with your words the way that the sun would cut through the darkness of dawn. 

Byers looked down at you so terribly and horribly and awfully fondly, humming softly as he dared to let go of your fingers in favour of gently tracing your jaw and your neck, he always liked the feeling of your skin on his, he always did like it when you lifted your chin up that little bit more so that you could lean into his soft touches. “Yeah?”

You cleared your throat, taking your hat off at last and letting it rest on your chest as you looked up at him, his eyes were blue as the sky and made you grin at last, and the fact that he looked so lovingly at you almost certainly did not help that, either. “You ever listen to Johnny Cash?”

“Sometimes,” he answered with a nod, gently running his finger along your hairline before letting his fingers dip into the strands, gently carding through them, softly playing with your hair as he tilted his head a little bit to the side. “Why?” 

“Ah, it ain’t nothin’, just…” you shrugged, reaching for his free hand and lacing your fingers with his and pulling his hand onto your chest, letting it go as he rested it just to the left of your hat, just next to your heart but enough so that he could feel the way it was beating. “That song he did, y’know… what’s it called? I Walk the Line?” 

“Yeah,” Byers confirmed with a gentle hum. “I Walk the Line.” 

“Makes me think of you,” you chuckled, biting at the inside of your lip. “I know it’s a bit stupid, I know I ain’t sayin’ it right, but… every time I hear it… can’t help but to think of you.” 

You moved, then, untangling yourself from him in favour of propping yourself up on your elbow to look over the hill at the cattle; they were still grazing away, probably would be all night if they didn’t sleep, but you still checked the horizon for something, anything, that could have caused them to run off. But there was nothing. Byers moved, too, sitting next to your legs as he pulled his knees up and rested his forearms on them, looking out over the horizon, looking for whatever it was you were looking for. 

“I Still Miss Someone makes me think of you,” he admitted eventually, causing you to look over at him with that awfully charming smile that made him oh-so-weak. He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkening sky and frowning a little before turning to you and raising his brows a little. “Do you, uh, do you think we should pitch a tent?”

You scoffed, chuckling and rolling your eyes at him, a smirk coming to rest on your lips as you shot him a wink. “You really are a city boy, John… ain’t no point in pitchin’ a tent, it ain’t gonna rain or get cold - no, weather like this? All you need’s a bedroll.” 

Byers was a little confused, not really sure what you meant - every time he had gone camping he had always been told to a pitch a tent… but then again, you probably knew the country better than he did, and he quite liked that, he quite liked the fact that your knowledge challenged his own. “What about… what about a fire?”

“We could do with a fire, but only if you wanna eat,” you teased, moving to stand up, clicking your back and groaning softly at the sensation. “Stay here, I’ll get us some firewood.” 

“Okay.” 

While you went and grabbed firewood and busied yourself with making the fire, Byers set-up the bedrolls, keeping them next to each other and unrolling them so perfectly that you couldn’t help but to compliment it - sure, it was easy to unroll a bedroll and to set it up, but whenever you did it, you didn’t really care about how neat it looked or how well it was done. You set up some cans of soup around the fire, sitting with your legs criss-crossed as you rolled yourself a cigarette; the sky was almost pitch black, now, the stars finally coming out to play, the moon taking its seat on its lonely throne at last, dark navy skies splattered with charcoal clouds that smudged the canvas and the view of the silver and white stars and moon. Dirt clouds would rise when a rock was kicked, and the cows were settling down to sleep, the horse was still hitched but was drifting off into its own rest, and you brought out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whisky from the saddlebag before sitting back down and taking a swig; Byers could never drink something so heavy, let alone straight from the bottle, so when you offered, he declined. 

But after a few swigs, you looked up at the night sky, chuckling to yourself as you took a drag from your cigarette and turned to him with a slight grin. “Y’know, I see this night sky every damn time I’m out here, but it ain’t never quite as beautiful as you are, John.” 

Byers was a little unsure of how to react,of what to actually say in return, as although he knew that you never meant it to be, it was probably the single most romantic thing he had ever heard in his life, and it stunned him, it genuinely rendered him speechless and unable to do anything except lean over and capture your lips; the scent of whisky and smoke alone was making his head spin, but he kept kissing you, able to taste the whisky on your tongue that made him wince a little from how strong it was - but he wasn’t trying to taste the whisky, he wasn’t chasing after that intoxication, he didn’t care too much about trying to taste it. 

But he did finally manage to speak when he pulled away, his mind clear despite spinning from the kiss, from you, and he licked his lips to savour the way yours had felt. He could taste whisky on his tongue. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” you murmured, swallowing thickly and taking another sip of whisky, pleasantly surprised when Byers kissed you again. “But John, there ain’t no glory in the west, there ain’t no glory anywhere, and it’s hard to think on my feet when I’m with you because… fuck, you make me weak in the best of ways, and I… every fuckin’ time I’m out here, every fuckin’ time I’m on my own, all I can think of is you…” another swig of whisky. “I’m fuckin’ haunted by the fact that I ain’t able to see you as much as I wanna.” A drag from your cigarette. Then another, and another, and another until all was left was the yellow-y filter and a scrap of paper that you soon chucked into the fire. “I wish I could fuckin’ see you more, John.” 

“Y’know, every time I have to drive somewhere in the night, I…” Byers paused, swallowing thickly and daring to rest his hand on your knee as he sighed, “I always think of you. I always wonder if you’re going to come and see me. I always hope you do.” He bit at the inside of his lip. “I wish I could see you more.” 

You hung your head, shaking it before sucking in a harsh breath and looking at the cans of soup, you turned them a little and sat back; the fire blazed, dancing and singing as the wood crackled with heat and the ash piled up, orange mixed with red and with yellow and then mixed with deep amber. “We ain’t never gonna have that, are we? I mean, we ain’t never gonna have no proper days together… and it’s because of me.” 

“I might wish I could see you more, (y/n), but I don’t want you to change your life for me,” he said softly. “I would rather only see you a few times a year and spend a day with you and know that you’re living the life you want to, than make you unhappy by making you move into the city with me and change your life.” 

“But you’re a city boy,” you chuckled sadly. “You wouldn’t move out here, in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere… would you?” You let out a depressed and melancholic laugh. “I wouldn’t want you to quit everything you love and drop everything for me… you should quit me, John.” 

“No.” Byers stated, moving a little closer so that he could pull you into his side. “I don’t want to quit you.” 

You squirmed into him, laying your head on his shoulder and hugging his arm as you whispered, knowing that he liked it, “every day I cross my heart and hope I’ll see you again… don’t get me wrong, I fuckin’ love workin’ on the ranch, but if I’m really fuckin’ honest? I wanna be able t’spend more time with you, John, and I… fuck, I wish we could go back to them days where it weren’t so goddamn hard to say that I was yours and you were mine... but I can’t live in no city, I spent all me life out in the country, cities are too loud and cramped, and I just can’t cope with ‘em.” 

“I know,” he said softly, resting his head on yours and letting out the softest of sighs. “I don’t want you to leave everything you know behind, I don’t want you to live somewhere you’ll be unhappy… but I’m not going to quit you.” 

“Even if I ain’t no city person?” You questioned. 

“Especially if you’re not a city person.” He chuckled, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m not going to quit you, I don’t want to quit you.” 

『••✎••』

The next day, while you and Byers were gone, Langly and Frohike and Jimmy were all still at the ranch, which Langly was probably the least keen on; having grown up on a farm and knowing what his childhood was like, he was far from keen to spend more day on the ranch than he had to… but then your grandmother took him around with her, and she was gentle with him, she spoke kindly and she slowed down to explain things when she knew he was confused. Whenever he made a mistake, she told him to try again, she encouraged him, she explained things again; she told him that he didn’t need to worry about making mistakes, everyone does, it wasn’t the end of the world because he dropped a few eggs, there would be more. Langly quite liked your grandmother, she was kind, she was nice, she wasn’t at all like his father, she was gentle. But that didn’t stop him from laughing when he saw Jimmy getting chased by a cockerel that he had tried to feed because he had thought that it was a very skinny turkey and needed to gain some weight. 

But then, in the house, sat at the kitchen table, Frohike had your father to himself, and was somewhere between questioning and interrogating him, but they did spare a few laughs at how you and Jimmy, who was only a year older than you, were so different from your own families. 

“An investigative reporter,” your father scoffed, shaking his head. “One without a penny to his name, at that… y’know, I’ll never understand what they see in that Byers. I don’t understand why they couldn’t have fallen for the Jones’ son or the Goldsmith’s daughter.” He brought up a hand to swipe it down his face as he grumbled. “But I guess I gotta let it slide, even if I don’t approve of my (y/n) being with some city boy, I gotta let it slide… my kid’s happy, that’s all that matters, right?” 

Frohike agreed, having found out that you were not the suspicious or malicious person he had once thought, having been told that your family did things the old fashioned way, especially cattle drives, simply because it was better, he felt guilty; he was a little upset that your father didn’t approve of your relationship with Byers, and although he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t see what the problem was. Sure, Byers could be a little paranoid, a little bit of a goody-two-shoes, but he was far from a bad person, and although he may not admit it to his friend’s face, Frohike was actually kind of glad that Byers had found you - he was happier, more relaxed, although he did sometimes worry about you yet never explain anything beyond “I’m just worried about something”; you and Byers, as different as you may have been, had something good going on, you had something decent, something that a lot of people struggled to find throughout their lives. 

The sound of horse’s hooves and the mooing of cattle came close, thundering hooves on soft dirt, it made Frohike look up before thanking your father for the quick talk before he turned and left; you were just hitching your horse up at the post, but more importantly, there a flashy black car behind you that pulled up at the gates. 

And none other than Agent John Doggett got out of it, waving to your grandmother before leaning against the car; regrouping, the Lone Gunmen stood together in stunned silence, watching as you barrelled over to Doggett. 

“Uncle Doggett!” You beamed, your hat falling off before you could even get close to tackling him in a hug; Doggett gave the best hugs in your family, despite not sharing even the smallest drops of blood, but he had always been your uncle, and you didn’t care about blood. You pressed your head against his chest, letting him rest a hand at the back of your neck as he wrapped his other arm around you and smiled. 

“Hey, cowboy.” He pushed you away to get a good look at you, a hum escaping the back of his throat as he nodded. “You haven’t been causin’ trouble in town, have you?” 

You scoffed, shaking your head and grinning at him. “When do I ever cause trouble?” 

Doggett chuckled, raising a brow as he ruffled your hair. “Always. I haven’t known you not to cause trouble, (y/n).” 

When you looked back and saw the Gunmen looking very confused and perhaps even a little bit concerned, you rolled your eyes, beckoning them over; Doggett and the Gunmen seemed to know one another, already quite well acquainted, apparently, but that did not stop them from asking how you knew one another. 

“Doggett’s my uncle,” you explained, “my dad’s known him for a thousand years.” 

“I’m not that old.” Doggett grumbled. 

“Of course not,” you snickered. “How’s your friend Darwin doing?” 

“Shut up,” although he was trying not to smile and laugh. 

You grinned at him again, shit-eating and smug, before you looked at Byers and took his hand gently. “Uncle Doggett, John Byers is my boyfriend,” you told him, kicking the ground a little nervously. 

Doggett nodded, looking Byers up and down with a stone cold expression before he turned to you and bent down to say something in your ear, “he’s a good man, (y/n), you chose good.” 

“Cheers,” you smiled, giving Byers’ hand a little squeeze to let him know that all was well. 

“So, uh, Agent Doggett,” Byers started, bouncing on his heels, a little nervous, well… very nervous, actually - it wasn’t as if one found out that the person one was dating had an uncle in the FBI who worked closely with one’s friend. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Doggett answered. “But, it’s just John or Doggett here.” 

“No agent?” Langly asked with a slight scoff. “What is it, like, your day off?” 

“It is,” Doggett nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to spend some time with my nibling.”

“Oh, uh, of, of course,” Byers nodded, looking at his trio of friends and clearing his throat. “Guys?” 

“Oh, right,” Langly bid you and Doggett a goodbye, walking away with the other three Gunmen, and when they were gone, Doggett leaned against the hood of his car, and smiled. 

“I see it.” 

“See what?” You asked, raising a brow and tilting your head slightly. 

“You and Byers,” he shrugged. “Don’t think I didn’t see you two on the trail, stopping so you could sit on the fence while he kissed you.”

“Dog-”

“It’s fine,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I see it. You make a good pair.” 

You lit up a little bit, smiling as you stuffed your hands in the pockets of your blue jeans. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Doggett confirmed. “Genuinely, I think you might be good for one another… besides, it’s about time those guys got out into some fresh air.” 

Playfully, you punched his arm. “Don’t be cruel.” 

“I’m not,” he acted as if nothing had happened, as if you didn’t throw a punch at him, because he knew it annoyed you. “How’d you meet, anyways? You and Byers?” 

You rubbed the back of your neck, shrugging and letting out a string of noises that were certainly not coherent. “I was in the city, lookin’ for some of Dad’s stuff, you know how he is with brands… searchin’ everywhere, and y’know, I stopped to grab coffee from this little corner thing, and… there Byers was. He was tryin’ to get ‘em to sell his paper there, and I got one and we got talkin’... and now we’re here.” 

“Huh.” Doggett scratched the side of his nose. “And how long have you been hidin’ this relationship from me?” 

“Okay, first of all, you ain’t been here often enough for me to tell you,” you grumbled. “Fuckin’ stupid FBI don’t give you enough time off… but about nearly a year.” 

“A year?!” He exclaimed, unable to believe what he had heard, unable to believe such a thing. 

“Nearly a year,” you corrected. “It’s more like eleven months, twenty days, three hours and two minutes.” 

Doggett raised a brow at you before shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Kids these days.” 

“You’re an ass,” you chuckled, fondly shaking your head at him. “I’ve missed you, Uncle Doggett.” 

“I missed you, too, kid - c’mon, let’s go grab dinner with the rest of ‘em.” 

『••✎••』

Doggett was now staying at the ranch for a few days, helping out where he could and spending time with you whenever he had a chance to do so, but today, you were gone, you had gone out with a friend from a neighbouring ranch, and had left the Gunmen to do try and find out some more about you - even if Byers did very much protest against such a thing. Your friend was an old one, having known her for years and years and years, and you did desperately need to talk to her, you needed the advice that only an old friend could give properly; the clouds were bleak and sharp grey, looking as if they may breakdown and cry at any given moment, the far off mountains were tipped with snow on their blue-grey rocks, but the grass was still a dull green, and the trees still had all their dark green leaves; the chill in the air was impossible to ignore, but it wasn’t so powerful and so strong that it would bring along with it a storm. There was time. Dressed all in black; black jeans, black shirt, black hat, black bandanna, black boots, black coat, even your saddle was black; you looked over at your companion; she was wearing a dark brown hooded coat, a cream coloured hat, a light blue shirt, dark blue jeans and brown hiking boots; Leah always dressed a little differently to you, and you did sometimes envy her for the fact that she loved going to the city, she loved going into town and looking at everything that those huge buildings and the concrete jungle in and of itself had to offer - Leah loved going to the city, and for that, you did have to admit you were a little bit envious. 

Leaning over, she smacked your shoulder, a frown on her lips. “What’s wrong, cowboy?”

You took your hat off, resting it on your saddle’s horn with a sigh, covering up the small iron wolf. “Ain’t nothin’, Miss Summers… you know me, I’m a… fuck, I can’t even convince myself at this point.” 

“Talk to me,” she gently encouraged, keeping her hand on your shoulder, but this time, her grip was tender, and you could see in her dark brown eyes that she was deeply concerned, you could see in those dark brown eyes that she wanted nothing but to help. “Please? You’ve known me this long, (y/n), you might as well talk to me.” 

You scratched the side of your nose, shaking your head and licking your lips as you looked out on the horizon. “Leah, I’m fine, honestly.” 

“You ain’t,” she replied, “c’mon, don’t you trust me?”

“Trust you more than a lotta people,” you grumbled, leaning forward and clicking your tongue. “Besides, don’t you have to go to the Mosque and pray soon?”

“Not for another couple of hours,” Leah told you with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder, she let out a sigh. “Talk to me, we have plenty of time.” 

You sucked in a harsh, deep, breath before letting it go and looking into her deep, brown, eyes. “You ain’t gonna laugh?”

Shaking her head, Leah offered a kind and soft smile; in all the years you had known her, she had absolutely been the kindest person, she was an amazing listener, and it was no wonder that everybody loved her in and around the ranches - she was great with the animals, too, having gotten her qualifications as a veterinarian. “When have I ever laughed at you, cowboy?”

“Alright, alright,” you chuckled, wondering how exactly to say it, how to put it properly and to not mess up the words. “Y’know John? That guy I’m, y’know…” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, listening attentively. “How are you doin’ with that? It’s gotta be hard with the lack of contact, right?”

You nodded, hanging your head and letting out a bitter and sad laugh. “Hard is a fuckin’ understatement… don’t get me wrong, I’d fuckin’ love to see him more, I really would, but…” 

“But you don’t wanna have to go to the city,” she finished the sentence for you, rubbing the side of her neck as she thought for a moment. “Can I be honest with you?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ve known you for years,” Leah started, “and in those years, I’ve known you to be a heartbreaker and a troublemaker, and I do love you, (y/n), you’re my favourite cowboy, but honestly? I ain’t never seen you so… so in love before you met John. I ain’t never known you to be so head over heels for someone, and if you mess this up? I swear to Allah, I will kick your ass.” 

You chuckled, a bit happier and a bit lighter in mood, now, daring to smile at her. “Can I hold ya to that?” 

“You absolutely can,” she agreed. “But, seriously, (y/n), my buddy, my pal, my friend, my mate, (y/n), I have never seen you so happy with a romantic partner before. I know you don’t wanna hear it, but all the same, I know for a fact that you’re hurtin’, that you’re sat there thinkin’ you don’t deserve him, you ain’t good enough - all that shit. I can see it in your eyes, I know. But you are worthy of the love you receive. You are deserving of that love. You are good enough for that love.” 

“You really think that?” You asked with a raised brow, reaching into your saddlebag and grabbing a cigarette from it, lighting it up with the Zippo in your breast pocket. 

“I do, yeah,” Leah told you. “And you wanna know what?” 

“What?” 

“I’ve been where you are,” she admitted. “When I met Humay, I was thinkin’ and hurtin’ the exact same as what you are, now, cowboy. And I don’t know how or why, but at some point it clicked - she loves me, and I love her, and that’s all that matters, ain’t it?” 

You took her words into consideration, thinking them over as you looked back out on the horizon, chewing at the inside of your lip for a moment; she did have a fair few points, and you couldn’t exactly refute them, you didn’t have a good enough argument to do so, but even still, you really weren’t convinced; you knew that you were being stupid, that you were overthinking and causing yourself more hurt than anything else, you knew that you were thinking way too much into things - but you couldn’t stop. When you thought of the night of the cattle drive, and the night before when you had crawled into his bed just to be held by him, you couldn’t deny that being so close to Byers and being held by him and holding him made you feel things that no one else had even come close to making you feel before - but what was a lowly cowboy supposed to do? Hit the road with a dollar or two just to grab him something small and stupid? 

Wanting to change the subject, you cleared your throat, biting at the inside of your lip. “How are y’all anyway? You still thinkin’ of buyin’ that house down by Old Man Johnson?” 

Leah nodded, smiling to herself as she thought about living on her own with the woman she loved, thinking of being able to spend every waking moment with the woman she loved more than anything. “We talked about it yesterday, actually - we’ve got nearly enough cash to do it.” 

“That’s good,” you smiled back, genuinely and completely and utterly happy for her as you nodded. “But you realise that you’re gonna have to have a house-warmin’ party, right?” 

“I’m not lettin’ you plan it,” she laughed, shoving your shoulder as she looked away for a moment. “I don’t want my first house to get wrecked, thank you, cowboy.” 

“Hey!” You whined, grinning now as you dared to allow your mood to lighten, dared to allow the joy for your friend flood through your veins. “I ain’t that bad!” 

Leah raised a brow at you, humming like she didn’t believe a word that came out of your mouth. “Sure you ain’t. Sure.” 

You scoffed, shaking your head and shoving her back just as playfully. “Y’all think I’m some kinda party animal, for fuck’s sake.” 

“You are,” she laughed softly. “But that’s why we love you - you cause trouble and you get into all sorts of shenanigans. You’re a nightmare, but loveable.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop yourself from laughing. “Fuck you.” 

“I’m sure you’d like to,” she teased. 

“Maybe if I weren’t - maybe if my heart didn’t belong to someone else,” you dared to let out a soft titter. “Hey, do you remember when we was up on them mountains lookin’ for that mule that went missin’ from the Goldsmith ranch?” 

Leah nodded, grinning and laughing softly at the memory. “You kept fallin’ in the snow and trippin’ over your own feet.” 

“And you pushed me on that lake,” you joined in with her chorus of laughter. “It was fuckin’ icy as shit and I kept worryin’ I’d fall through the ice and you turned around and was like nah, it’ll be fine - I saw a grizzly walkin’ on it, as if that was any goddamn consolation!” 

“But you didn’t fall through!” She protested with a howl of glorious laughter.

“No thanks to you!” The bark of your chuckle was loud enough that it echoed through the chilly air, carried on the wind and given to the leaves and blades of grass and petals on the flowers. 

Shrugging, Leah kept her hand on your shoulder to steady herself, to stop herself from falling out of her saddle as she doubled over in laughter. “Y’know, I remember when you tried out for the rodeo and your horse bucked you off.” 

“It got spooked!” You defended with a gentle howl. “Besides, Byers patched me up and it wasn’t that big of a deal… even though I can’t remember where I put the shirt I wore - probably threw it out.” 

“You mean like you threw out the shirt of his that you keep in your wardrobe?” She asked with a smirk and a raised brow. “Don’t act like I don’t know about that, cowboy, I’ve been to your house enough times.” 

You grumbled, still unable to stop laughing along with her as you looked around for a moment. “I never said I threw it out!” 

“You liar!” She gasped, smacking your shoulder and cackling loudly, harsh giggles filling the air better and more beautifully than any birdsong ever could. “Any goddamn time someone asks you about that shirt you always say you threw it away!” 

“I do not!” Your voice went slightly higher in pitch as you gawked. 

“You do!” Leah nearly shouted. “I’ve heard you say it!” 

“I have never said that once in my life!” You raised your voice a little, trying to speak over your own laughter as you shoved her and shook your head. “You’re mistaken, Miss Summers!”

“Oh, really?” She grinned as she tried to bite back the laugh that dared to bubble up in the back of her throat. “And what if I went to your house now? I’m pretty sure I’d find that shirt in the back of your wardrobe, still stinkin’ of him.” 

You put your hat back on, tipping it so that she could not see the amusement in your eyes, so that she could not see that she had made you drop every single ounce and crumb of hopelessness and melancholy in favour of picking up every single gram and shred of joy and laughter. “Why don’t you go to the house, then? See if you can find it.” 

Leah raised a brow at you, leaning back in her saddle slightly as she patted her horse’s neck; it was a normal horse, just a standard chestnut thoroughbred with a black mane and tail - a mare, she affectionately called it Dolly after the country singer; but she soon tugged on the reigns to make the horse turn around as she shot you a grin and cleared her throat. “You comin’ or what, cowboy?” 

“Oh, you are a piece of work.” You joked, turning your own horse, Storm’s Ruin, the white one with a few brown spots, around and letting out a soft cough. “Get ready to eat my dust, Summers.” 

“If anyone’s gonna be eating dust, it’s you, (y/l/n),” Leah challenged with a chortle. “Which way are we goin’?” 

You shrugged, adjusting your hat and pulling your bandanna up so that it covered your nose - no point in choking on dust when you could avoid it. “Let’s take it along the river, good ole ride.” 

“Alright, cowboy, on the count of three.” 

『••✎••』

Frohike and Langly had discovered something about you while you were gone, having spoken to Doggett and some people in the nearest town, including a woman called Humay, and to say that they were displeased with what they had heard and found out was to be an understatement; you were a heartbreaker, apparently, known for never letting romantic partners be with you for more than a month, and it seemed as if nearly everyone at the local saloon knew you by that reputation - they said you often stood against the record machine with a cigarette and a glass of whisky, they said you were candy-coated in misery from all the hearts you had broken and all the people you had hurt. You were known to be a heartbreaker and a troublemaker, neither of which sat well with Frohike and Langly when they found out. They did want to give you the benefit of the doubt, they really did, they wanted to brush it off and to forget about it, but then they thought about how you might break Byers’ heart, and they couldn’t stand the thought of him getting hurt again; it was a tricky situation, a sticky circumstance, and when they returned to the ranch to find Jimmy sat with your grandmother and Byers sat on the steps of the porch waiting for you, poor Frohike and Langly knew what they had to do - they had to tell the truth, they had to tell Byers what they had found out in town, the kind of reputation that you had. 

“Hey, guys,” Byers smiled when he saw his two companions, nodding at them both. “Did you, uh, did you pass (y/n) on the way? They said they wouldn’t be long, and-”

“Frohike, you can take this one,” Langly said, sitting down beside Byers and frowning, knowing what was about to be said, what was about to happen. 

Frohike kicked at a patch of dirt, watching the small cloud of pale yellow dust rise into the air as he thought about how to say it, as he thought about what, exactly, to say and how to properly word it. “Byers… we don’t think (y/n) is the person you think they are.” 

Byers furrowed his brows, looking between the two and chewing at the inside of his lip as he thought the worst possible; he could not stand the spiralling thoughts that were coming to mind, and all he could do was to breathe out a murmur of, “what?” 

“We went into town, Byers,” Langly admitted with a solemn voice, “we, uh, we spoke to a few people there.” 

“The saloon, too,” Frohike added with a saddened tone, “they had a lot to say about (y/n).” 

“T- they did?” Byers whined, swallowing thickly, his brows raised in concern as his heart started to switch between standing still and running a marathon in his ribcage. 

“Yeah, man,” Langly nodded. 

“Your cowboy has quite the reputation,” Frohike started, “especially in the saloon - they’re a heartbreaker, Byers. Pretty much everyone there either had their heart broken by (y/n), or they know someone that did.” 

Byers shook his head, no, not you, surely they had the wrong person, surely you weren’t the kind of person to jump from heart to heart and leaving a trail of shattered loves and broken romances behind you as if it was nothing; no, he couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to believe it. “How can you be sure that it’s my (y/n) and, and not someone else?” 

Frohike frowned, shaking his head. “Byers… don’t.” 

About to open his mouth, Byers was interrupted by the thundering of horses galloping, thudding hooves against harsh ground and a puff of yellow smoke behind you as you reigned your horse in and let out a howl; your friend, Leah, trailed behind you, laughing madly. 

Raising your hat in the air with one hand and yanking your bandanna down with the other, you were grinning like a wildcat. “Whoo-ee! I fuckin’ told ya I’d win!” 

Leah scoffed, shaking her head as she brought her horse to stand beside yours. “This once, maybe, but I’ll get you next time, (y/l/n).”

“Aw, don’t be mad, baby,” you teased, nothing more than playful banter. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

Byers realised then, he saw it, he heard it, and while he didn’t realise that it was just banter, just playful joking around and teasing, his heart sank; everything that he had been told fell into place, then, everything seemed to make sense. Maybe you were a heartbreaker. Maybe you were trouble. Maybe you were no good. It definitely didn’t help that your friend kissed your forehead and told you to look after yourself before she left, it didn’t help that you couldn’t stop smiling, even when you walked up to Byers and looked him up and down, licking your lips and raising your brows in approval. 

“Damn, don’t you look better than a glass of iced Kentucky moonshine on a hot day?” You asked, letting out a soft breath that definitely did not mean anything innocent. 

Byers shook his head, frowning a little; he wasn’t great at confrontation, often avoiding it wherever possible like alligators, and he definitely did not want to get into an argument, a quarrel - but all the same, he knew that he had to say something. “Who was that?” 

“Leah,” you shrugged, casual as ever as if you had only told him what colour the sky was. “Old friend of mine, I’ve known her for fuckin’ years.” 

Byers swallowed thickly, rubbing his chin with his knuckles, which certainly grabbed your attention as you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip before catching it between your teeth, but he could only sigh heavily. “Is, is it true what people say about you? That… that you break people’s hearts?” 

You scratched at a spot behind your ear as you nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, it is - I’m a cowboy, John, we don’t… we don’t do relationships, more often than not.” 

“Is that why you’re with me?” His voice was quiet, disheartened, sad as he looked down at the ground, hanging his head and closing his eyes for a split small moment, bracing himself. 

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head and letting out a sigh. “No, it ain’t why I’m with you at all. Never was, and never will be… the only reason I’m with you is ‘cause I love you, John.” 

“But you didn’t think to tell me about the notches in your belt?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly; he couldn’t admit it, but he knew he should have seen it coming, he knew that cowboys would seek out comfort from people during those long cattle drives, he knew that cowboys often didn’t have the time for relationships and would often be marked as heartbreakers… but it hurt. Because he knew he wasn’t good enough, he knew he wasn’t smart enough or rich enough, he knew that he wasn’t good enough for you, and he knew that he never would be. 

“It’s all the past, innit?” You furrowed your brows at him, shaking your head. “John, it, it’s all in the past, it’s not - I want you, and only you, I don’t give a fuckin’ damn ‘bout no one else. I want you. I love you.” 

“But how could you not tell me?” Byers could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stuffed his hands in his pockets to try and hide the fact that he was shaking. “How could you not tell me about-”

“John.” You gently cupped his cheeks, sighing heavily as you licked your lips. “John Fitzgerald Byers, fuckin’ listen to me, right? The heartbreaker bullshit, the past shit I’ve done - none of that… I ain’t like that no more, I ain’t. I don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout no one else, I don’t fuckin’ wanna be with no one else. No matter how lonesome I get on the road, no matter what happens or what I’m feelin’, the only person I ever really give a damn about… is you. It’s always you, for fuck’s sake.” You took in a shaky breath, “you’re my goddamn city boy, John, and I’m your fuckin’ cowboy, ain’t I?”

Something clicked in Byers’ head at that, he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as he let out a soft and quiet sigh, something clicked for him and maybe it was the way you cradled his face in his hands, maybe it was the way you had spoken or the desperate look in your eyes, maybe it was the shaky breaths that left your lips, maybe it was just the fact that you were honest with him, maybe it was just the fact that you admitted to your reputation and what people thought of you, but even still, something clicked for him and he started to realise that maybe, just maybe, possibly, he didn’t have anything to worry about; maybe he didn’t have anything to worry about because you loved him, you genuinely, truly, absolutely, completely, utterly, loved him and maybe that meant that there was nothing wrong after all and maybe that meant that he didn’t have to be so insecure. Maybe he was good enough for you, maybe you didn’t care that he didn’t have a lot of money or a big house in the middle of nowhere, maybe you didn’t care that he wasn’t the best man in the world who could drown you in luxury and lavish gifts, maybe you didn’t care that he was a city boy… maybe he was good enough for you. Maybe he didn’t need to worry. Maybe he didn’t have to quit you because you wouldn’t quit him. And he thought back, he thought back to that one time where he tried to impress you and it failed miserably but it was a memory that made his heart feel a little lighter and made him smile. 

It was a late night, it was a warm summer’s night, and you had insisted on taking him out to the saloon for it; he had dressed up properly for it too - light brown cowboy boots, blue jeans, striped blue button-up shirt, white cowboy hat, a light brown coat - but he was so uncomfortable, he felt weird wearing it and didn’t particularly like it, either, but he did it for you; he did it for you, and when you walked in wearing dark brown cowboy boots, a plain denim button-up shirt, dark blue jeans, your black cowboy hat, a blue checked jacket that was a mix between wool and leather. And he stood there for a moment. He stood there admiring you and wondering how he got so lucky as to know you, he stood there appreciating how good you looked; but then you smiled, and he felt like the world was made of gold, and then you told him to change, and he had never felt so relieved. You told him to change because, he looked great and he looked the part, but you could tell he was so, so, awfully uncomfortable in such an outfit; he changed into one of his suits the very second you told him to, and then you were sat on his bed and shaking your head and grinning at him; you told him that you appreciated the effort, you really genuinely did, but you couldn’t stand to see him so uncomfortable, you couldn’t stand the fact that he thought he had to change for you, you never wanted him to change because… 

“You love me,” Byers whispered, smiling as he dared to lean forward enough to press his forehead against yours. “You love me.” 

You nodded, chuckling softly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly, letting him copy the action as he moved to rest his chin on your shoulder. “I’d be a goddamn fool not to, wouldn’t I?” 

Byers chuckled softly, keeping you oh so close to his body as he drowned in the warmth of your body, the warmth of home, closing his eyes as he let out a soft sniffle and let out a sharp breath. “I love you, too… I’m sorry I acted-”

“Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head before pressing a kiss to his neck as you continued to hold him so tightly. “Don’t apologise, I… I should’ve told you about my past… I’m sorry, John.” 

He didn’t care if you were sorry or not, he didn’t blame you either way, he couldn’t find it in himself to do so; maybe you were right, maybe it was just all in the past, maybe it was just the past and now you were a changed person - you had been loyal and faithful all this time, why would it suddenly have changed? You had been loving and good to him this entire time, why did he doubt you? Why did he even care about your past, or was it just because it was new and it sank into his insecurities? No matter what it was, Byers knew that he couldn’t blame you at all. He knew that you didn’t love nobody else, you didn’t care about anybody else, your heart was his to hold and his own heart was yours to protect… and you did. He was so fond of you that he could look away from your past, he could not care any less about it now than he did before he knew. But as he held you so tightly, as he drowned in your warmth and let himself relax in your embrace, Byers could not help but to think of the fact that your father did not approve of him, that your father did not approve of the relationship, and while that would have been fine normally, it made him feel so sick and so guilty, it made him feel like shit if he was honest, it only added to insecurities - he knew that your family meant a lot to you, and while your grandmother liked him enough - with the exception of his beard, she always told him to shave it off - he still felt bad about the fact that your father didn’t approve of the relationship; sure, he was polite and hospitable towards Byers, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he had to change that. So he pulled away, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. 

“Are you around tomorrow?” Byers asked softly, blue eyes filled with curiosity; he looked so good against the yellow ground and the sharp blue skies. You could get used to a sight like that, your favourite city boy in his suits against a country background. You could definitely get used to a sight like that, and boy, did Byers know it. 

You looked up at the sky for a moment, looking at the clouds for a second and judging whether or not you would actually be going anywhere; but then you brought your gaze back to Byers, and you shrugged. “Honestly? I ain’t so sure… why?”

“I think I might sit down with your father for a while,” he explained sweetly, “I know he doesn’t approve of us, but I want to try… so, I was going to sit down with him and, y’know, talk things through.” 

Your smile was the best thing that Byers had seen all day, but he still let out a soft “good lord” when you tackled him in another hug, he still gripped onto you tightly as he relaxed into your embrace once more, letting you have the moment before you dared to speak up, “y’know, that’s a pretty good idea… it ain’t like y’all spend a lotta time together, so I say do it, John, if you wanna talk to him and try and talk things through… just know I back you up on it, I got your six.” 

“I know,” Byers smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand drifting down so that he could gently rub your back as he dared to smile, as he dared to allow himself not to worry for a moment. “I’ve always got your back, too, though, you know that, right?”

“I know,” you murmured, nodding and burying your head against him, if only to steal a little bit of warmth, if only to drown in it the way you so often drowned in the warmth of home after coming back from long cattle drives. “I’ll try and get away for a while tomorrow, might take Langly and Frohike and Jimmy fishin’, see if we can’t grab somethin’ for dinner for y’all.” 

“I’m sure they would appreciate it… or at least I will,” he said softly, speaking in such a tender tongue that it made you lean into him that little bit more, craving more of his touch, yearning for more of his warmth, pining for more of the feeling of being loved and to love, trying to wriggle into his space as humanly close as you could. 

You stayed silent for a moment, basking on one another’s presence, but you were soon disturbed by a familiar voice, and when you pulled away to see who it was, Doggett was standing with his hands in his pockets and a slight smile on his face. 

“We’re all about to have dinner, if you two wanna join - or are you preoccupied?” 

You cleared your throat, reluctantly breaking away from Byers, although not entirely, as your hand soon found its way to his and you squeezed it gently, tugging to let him know that you wouldn’t let go but that you did want him to fall into step beside you as he always did. 

“Sure, Uncle Doggett,” you nodded, chuckling when your stomach let out a large howl. “I’m fuckin’ starvin’ like a coyote.” 

“Get your ass inside, then,” Doggett smiled. “It’s all but done, just waiting on you two.”

『••✎••』

An argument had broken out, snarls and growls of awful words had been exchanged, and as you stormed out to go and check the grounds, to get away from your own father, everyone was a little taken back and caught off guard; but none more than Byers, who had never seen you lose your temper so badly before, and none less than Doggett, who had seen you lose your temper more than he had seen you keep it. And being your favourite Uncle, Doggett took it upon himself to get everyone out for the day - Langly and Frohike and Jimmy were a little reluctant to join him on a trip to the river, but Byers declined, and Doggett had a feeling he knew why. It was awkward, Byers couldn't help but to refuse eye contact with your father as he bit at the inside of his lip and hoped, oh fuck how he hoped, that another argument would not be caused. 

"So, uh, Mister (y/l/n)-" 

"I don't like you," your father said point blank, at least he was honest. "I don't think you, a city slicker, should be datin' my (y/n)... maybe that Langly feller would be a better fit, at least he's a farm boy." 

Byers frowned, shaking his head. "Sir, I was born in Virginia. And raised there." 

Your father raised a brow. "So? You ain't exactly a rural lad, are ya?" 

Byers shook his head. "N- not exactly, no… but me and (y/n) are happy, Sir. We're happy… isn't that what matters?" 

"Yeah, but you gotta understand,  _ John _ , we're country folk," he stated. "I gotta know that, when I'm gone, my (y/n)'s with someone that can help out." 

Byers had to admit, he did see where your father was coming from, he did understand on some level, but at the same time, he sighed and swiped a hand down his face, scratching at that spot on his chin where the grey hairs mixed with brown. "Sir, please, listen to me, just… just for a moment?" 

"Fine. I'm all ears." 

"I… I love (y/n), more than anything," Byers admitted, "and I know you don't approve of me being with them, you've made that perfectly clear, Sir, but… (y/n) loves me as much as I love them. And I would do anything and everything I can to ensure that they're happy and safe, and…" 

As Byers continued to rant and to speak, your father sat back and listened, nodding and occasionally making a hum to show that he was still listening, occasionally muttering a "yeah" or an "uh-huh" in response, but deep down he had to admit: he was slowly growing to warm up to Byers. Sure, he wasn't a farming man, he didn't know how to shear a sheep or how to saddle up a horse for the plough - but he was passionate, he was kind, and he was polite. And your father liked those qualities, and found himself thinking that maybe he did approve of Byers after all. 

"Maybe you ain't such a bad kid after all, John," your father eventually said, laying a hand on Byers' shoulder and daring to smile. "Maybe I misjudged you." 

Lighting up and perking up, Byers' eyes were filled with that awful blue hope as he raised his brows and cracked a slight smile. "You mean that?" 

"Sure," your father nodded, giving the shoulder a quick and gentle - although it was still kind of painful, but Byers would never admit it - squeeze. "You ain't such a bad kid… I mean, you're a bit of a square, sure, and I dunno if I've ever heard you say so much as 'shit', but… you ain't bad." Standing up, your father gestured for Byers to follow. "C'mon, lemme show you somethin'." 

Falling into step, Byers followed your father out across the grounds, silent and trying to avoid messing up, trying to avoid a confrontation, but when your father paused at an empty paddock, Byers couldn't help but to question it. 

"What's this about?" 

"This is where (y/n) comes to practice for the rodeo," he explained, "sometimes we get the bulls, but they've become too used to it and think it's a game. Sometimes we just use the horses…" he paused, taking in a harsh breath. "You got no idea how proud I am of 'em… my own flesh and blood… a rodeo champ…" he turned to Byers with a sad expression, then. "You'll protect 'em, right? It ain't just rodeos, it's-" 

"I promise," Byers nodded, nothing but sincerity and honesty in his eyes. "I'll do whatever I can to keep (y/n) safe, I always will." 

Your father cracked a small smile at him, patting the harsh light brown wood of the top panel. "I take it you met Doggett?" 

"Agent John Doggett?" Byers questioned before nodding once more. "Y- yes, we've worked together before." 

"My best friend," your father said. "Y'know, first time he met you boys, he had nothin' but kind words to say about you, John. I'm sorry for treatin' you like such shit these days, I really am. I misjudged you, kid." 

"It- it's fine, Sir," Byers replied, clearing his throat and looking out at the paddock. It was barren, except for a few padded mats around the edges, clearly there to protect both you and the animal. "Honestly, it's fine." 

"It ain't," your father shook his head. "My ma, (y/n)'s grandmother… if she weren't in town, right now, she'd be yankin' at my ear and shoutin' at me… thinks the sun shines out of your ass 'cause of how happy you make (y/n)... and maybe she's partly right." 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Byers shrugged. "I, uh, thank you?" 

Chuckling, your father rolled his eyes and clapped Byers on the shoulder as he offered a kind and sympathetic smile. "My fuckin' days, you are a  _ square _ , kid… but it's alright, I guess it balances out with (y/n)'s sailor's mouth, right?" 

"Sure," Byers chuckled. "Can I, uh, can I ask you something?" 

"If you want," your father shrugged. 

"What's, uh, what's the importance of the rodeo?" Byers asked softly. "To, to you, I mean." 

"There's the journalist," your father commented with a good nature before scratching at his cheek and coughing. "I was the king of the rodeo once… always the champion, y'know? No one could compete… but then I got old, and I stopped practicin' so I got rusty with it, and… y'know, by the time I thought about goin' back into it, I couldn't even qualify… but it was always one of my favourite things - call it pride, but when (y/n) said they wanted to start goin' to the rodeo, I was fuckin' happy as a pig in shit. Even when they lose, I couldn't be happier. 'Cause that's my flesh and blood out there, followin' in my footsteps and doin' ten times better 'an I ever could. It's the same feelin' as when I see that your generation got it so much easier than mine, y'all have things so much easier and that…" he looked up at the sky and grinned. "I guess it gives me hope, in some sorta way. But I like knowin' that things is gettin' better and changin' for the good." 

"Wow…" was all Byers could muster up to reply, completely taken aback by your father's words. But he dutifully followed when your father wandered over to the stables, having to skip here and there to try and keep up, but when he saw the large mare, he still stopped in his tracks. She was a massive draft horse, grey in colour with dark brown eyes, her mane braided neatly to keep it out of her eyes, her tail clipped to a somewhat short length but still enough to raise up to swat at flies that dared to pester her; her saddle was far different to the one you used, blue in colour and a much older fashion, but when your father walked up to her, she immediately tried to nibble at his hair. 

"Hey there, old girl," he smiled, gently stroking her nose and looking at her ears, they were positioned to let him know that she was content as he dared to run his hand down her massive neck. "John, meet Llamrei." 

Byers was unsure about approaching the horse, lifting his hand up and letting her catch a whiff of his scent, but she huffed at him, and shook her head. 

"She's a bit antisocial, gotta be won over and trusted, first," your father explained, "but she's a sweet horse. She's good at ploughin', although you're a bit too old for that, now, aren't you, girl?" 

Byers stood back, thinking about the difference, thinking about how maybe there was a reason why they were so different after all; your horses were laid back, fast, a Mustang and an appaloosa, they were quite friendly, well behaved. Your father's horse was antisocial, slow but powerful, a Dutch draft, she wasn't exactly friendly, but she seemed calm around your father. But he didn't want to think too far into it, he wasn't a poet or a writer - maybe it was just coincidence. Out of the corner of his eye, Byers could see the black gelding, and slowly approached, his hands shaking as he gradually lifted his hand on to pat the horse's neck, not expecting the animal to let out a noise of approval, he expected to get bitten.

"H- hey, boy," Byers said softly, nervously. Fuck, he hoped he didn't spook it. 

"Ah, Cash," your father chuckled, turning around and spotting Byers with the gelding. "Named after that goddamn country singer (y/n) likes so much." 

"Johnny Cash?" Byers asked softly, backing away from the horse and hoping, really really hoping, that he didn't freak it out. 

"That's the one," your father confirmed with a nod. "What was that song he did that (y/n) likes so much?" 

Byers answered with, "oh, uh, I Walk the Line." 

"Never really my taste," your father admitted. "But I see the appeal, and I approve of it." 

Byers knew that that was a direct comment about himself, he knew that your father still didn't understand why you were with someone like Byers and not someone like Langly, but even still, he got the appeal, and he approved; spending all day with your father was not something that Byers had ever expected, if he was honest, but even still, he wasn't about to complain about it - your father taught him things that his own had never even bothered to do. Like what to do when confronted by a bear. How to tie certain knots. How to do all of those little tricks that most fathers taught their sons but, somehow, Byers had missed out on in his childhood and was now suddenly learning. Your father was gentle with him, always stopping halfway through to make sure that the younger man was listening and learning, always so patient with him, even when he messed up, your father would only shrug and tell him not to fret too much - fuck ups happened. Mistakes get made. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't the end of the world. They were getting along just fine, actually, finally starting to see a little more eye to eye, starting to actually bond and to find similarities between themselves… when Byers saw you. You had just hitched your horse up, and as you were about to go into the barn, Byers rushed over. 

He wasn't sure what came over himself. But you seemed to like it well enough. He grabbed your shirt collar, knuckles going white and pale and his breathing becoming erratic and heavy as you grabbed his belt. He pinned you against the barn wall, making sure you wouldn't get a splinter from the wood, and you eagerly pulled him that much closer, letting out a whisper of his name. Byers really wasn't sure what had come over him, his hands were rough as he knocked the hat off of your head before grabbing your face harshly. You grabbed him right back, your own grip just as rough and harsh. You couldn't help but to grin when he crashed his lips against yours. It was a rough kiss, taking your breath away, it was a hard kiss, stunning you, but after a moment you finally kissed him back, matching the roughness, the breathtakingly hardness, the stunningly eagerness. His beard tickled your skin, which only made you keep going, which only made you that much more eager. Your hands drifted down to the lapels of his blazer, and you tugged him that little bit closer before you were forced to pull away by your own lungs. 

"John…" you breathed out against his lips. 

"I'm so sorry, I-" 

"Don't be sorry," you mused, pecking his lips once more and humming softly. "I liked it." 

Byers smiled, a little exhausted from the kiss as he dared to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes; he really did want to say something more, but then he caught wind of the teasing but also encouraging comments from his friends behind him, and he laughed softly, giggling as he dared to kiss you once more. "I should, uh, I should-" 

"Put on a show?" You joked, purposefully letting one hand slip into his back pocket, the other going to the back of his neck as you raised a brow and smirked. "Go on, I'll see you after dinner - deal?"

Swallowing thickly, Byers shook his head, splaying out his hands on either side of your head, so close that he could have sworn you heard and felt the way his heart was drumming against his ribs. He was blushing, awfully, and he could feel it on his own features. "Deal." 

As Byers walked away, you stayed against the wall, tracing your lips with your fingers in a vain attempt to try and mesmerise and commit the kiss to memory, the way he was so rough and harsh, the way he breathed so erratically and heavily like he had been running for miles, it all made you smile as you lost yourself in the drowning sensation of it, never wanting to resurface for air; but then you were yanked out of the cold water by a nudge against your ribs. 

"What's up, dog?" You chuckled, mostly to yourself, as you looked over at Doggett. 

"I just wanted to let you know that I've returned with three investigative reporters," he shrugged. "Oh, and that I'm staying for a lot longer." 

"FBI finally get tired of you?" You teased. 

"Not yet," he admitted. "Give 'em chance, but… no, I'm on paid vacation time for the next…" he checked his watch, "four days." 

"That's awesome!" You grinned. 

"Yeah, yeah, it's not too bad," Doggett chuckled, picking up your hat and dusting it off with a raised brow. "Do I wanna know?" 

"Probably not," you snatched the hat back and shrugged. "Y'know somethin', Uncle Doggett?" 

"What's that, kid?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall beside you. 

"I think I might marry Byers one day…" you scratched the side of your neck. "I was thinkin' about it earlier and… is it bad I can't picture no one else as my spouse?" 

"I don't think so, no." He swallowed thickly, regretting not having taken a drink with him earlier, he was parched now. "C'mon, I'll take you and the guys into town - grab somethin' to drink." 

『••✎••』

The pub was crowded heavily, people crammed in and drinking everything from water to vodka and whisky to soda, but thankfully, Doggett had managed to secure a table for you, Byers, Jimmy, Langly, Frohike and himself; Jimmy was the one getting the drinks, obtaining the cash for each round and somehow always getting a few pounds off from the very attractive bartender, who always grinned when they saw him coming and waved at him, they even gave him a tray to help carry the drinks; Langly and Frohike and Byers all felt a little bit out of place, though, feelings both underdressed and overdressed respectfully - Langly was in his normal getup of old worn out blue jeans and a punk band t-shirt, Frohike was wearing just a shirt and jeans with his leather jacket draped on the back of his chair, and Byers… well, if anyone asked you, Byers was the prettiest damn person in that pub, dressed in his grey-brown suit with his dark red tie and slightly off-white shirt. He looked amazing, if you were honest, but that didn’t stop him from feeling slightly out of place and like he didn’t fit in properly, like he was severely overdressed for such an establishment. Doggett fit right in alongside you, though, despite the fact that he himself was dressed in just a grey long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans, but perhaps that was more to do with the fact that he was considered a regular there. But even still, Byers did not miss the looks that people threw your way, some of them lustful, some of them loathing, and while you didn’t take any notice of it, he did… he couldn’t stop noticing every single look that was thrown your way, and it made him a little nervous - he was nervous that someone would try and flirt with you or that they would throw a drink at you, or anything in between or more. 

The conversation flowed well enough, though, with Doggett mentioning your first rodeo and everyone on your table wanting to hear more; you were keen to tell him what had happened that day, as well as keen to answer every and any question that they all had - you didn’t miss the looks that Byers gave you, partly worried for your safety at such events, partly incredibly and absolutely impressed with your achievements and accomplishments. 

But it didn’t take long for the group to split up, Frohike and Jimmy off flirting with some very attractive people that had caught their eye, Langly was talking to a laid-back old timer with a rainbow badge and a “they/them pronouns” badge on the lapels of their jacket and they seemed to be getting along just fine, but Byers and Doggett stayed at the table while you wandered off; you were leaning up against the record machine with a glass of Jack Daniel’s whisky on the rocks, looking over at Byers as “I Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash played. But then a stranger approached the table, caught by the way Byers was looking at you - they managed to walk over right as Doggett moved to use the water closet in the back, and they wasted no time in introducing themselves to your boyfriend with a firm handshake. 

“Most folks call me Jamie,” they said kindly, stealing the seat that had once belonged to Doggett. 

“John,” Byers nodded curtly, avoiding their gaze as he continued to look over at you, a dreamy sigh coming from his lips as he rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on the edge of the table. 

Jamie scoffed, shaking their head and licking their lips as they shifted in their seat. “Y’know, I used to go out with them.” 

Byers shot them a look, no more than a split second as he hummed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” they confirmed with a nod. “Didn’t last long, though, little over a month… but if you’re thinking of getting into bed with them, you might wanna know a few things.” 

“Like what?” Byers brought his glass to his lips, taking a swig before swallowing thickly and clearing his throat, not exactly the most comfortable in that very moment. 

Jamie cleared their throat, cracking their knuckles and shrugging. “Well, for a start, they’re gonna break your heart - you won’t think it, but it’s only a matter of time because (y/n)... always breaks hearts.”

“Right.” He nodded. 

“You gotta watch out, man, they’re a devil in disguise just waiting to steal a heart and watch it break,” Jamie continued, “swear down, I’ve never met a person who was more snake than anything else. Never in my life.”

“Of course.” Poor Byers knew that you weren’t like that anymore, he knew that his heart was safe with you for as long as yours was safe with him, but he could not bring it in himself to say anything to Jamie, he could not find it in himself to refute the claims and to say that no, you weren’t like that anymore; but he did also suppose that maybe Jamie didn’t know that you were with Byers, maybe they didn’t know that you were his and he was yours just as much, so he kept his mouth shut, and watched as you put some money in the record machine and lined up a few more songs, a small smile on his lips. 

“Only comes out at night, too,” Jamie continued, “promise, I’ve never seen (y/n) out in the daytime ‘cept to rodeo and cowboy. They only ever come out at night. And it certainly don’t help that they’re just no good for you, man. You’re better off finding someone else.” 

You had caught the conversation, you had seen Jamie and how they were talking to an incredibly uncomfortable Byers, and all you could do was to walk over, smiling down at him as you tipped your hat. 

“They botherin’ you, sugar?” You asked, raising your brows as you waited for Byers to answer. 

But he simply shrugged, and allowed you to sit beside him, pleasantly surprised when you put a hand at the back of his neck ever so softly, pulling him into a deep but gentle kiss; he kissed back, a little nervous about the public display of affection, but unable to do anything else as he slung one arm over your shoulders and pulled you that little bit closer - so caught up in the kiss, neither of you noticed that Jamie, having realised what was going on and that you and Byers were very much together, had scampered away to go and bother somebody else. 

When you pulled away, you asked Byers once more if he had been bothered by your ex-lover, but he shook his head, smiling fondly at you and tilting his head a little to the side, the yellow lights on the ceiling glittering in his bright blue eyes. “It’s, it’s not a big deal, it was nothing.” 

“As long as you’re sure,” you murmured, moving to gently kiss his neck. “You know if you wanna leave, you can just say and we’ll head home, right?” 

“I know,” his free hand came to rest on your knee as he leaned into every little sweet kiss, every little gentle peck of your lips on his neck, every small touch, every soft touch that you had to offer, he lapped it up so eagerly, trying not to frown when you pulled away and smiled so goddamn lovingly at him. 

“Say,” you hummed, licking your lips and trying to hold and bite back the smile that was daring and threatening to come out, making you have to capture your bottom lip so firmly between your teeth that you were certain that, if you bit down even a fraction more, it would surely bleed. “Why don’t we go and have a quick dance?” 

Byers was a little unsure, to say the least, a little nervous and entirely not confident; after all, he knew that he could not dance, and he worried that he would disappoint you, he worried so massively that he would disappoint you and even perhaps perchance upset you, too; he was worried beyond belief that by him not being able to dance, it would somehow make you upset or disappointed in him - but even still, what was the harm that one dance could do? What was the harm in letting loose for once? So, he took your hand, hoping that you didn’t notice how his fingers trembled as he held on tightly to your hand and allowed you to lead him right to the dance floor, right as a slow and gentle song came on the record machine, and Byers knew, he knew that it was one that you had purposefully chosen in order to have an excuse for a quick dance. 

Ever so softly, you gripped his wrists, guiding his hands to rest on your waist as you hooked your arms around the back of his neck, smiling so fondly at you as he began to relax a little as he locked into the steady rhythm, and he couldn’t help but to smile as he looked into your eyes and realised, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, that he loved you; you moved forward, resting your chin on his shoulder and letting out a soft whine, moving so that you could nuzzle into the side of his neck oh so sweetly. It made his features turn pink as his arms drifted up so that he was holding your shoulder blades, if only to keep you close as he smiled to himself and gently swayed you from side to side, partly following your lead, partly following the music’s beat - he couldn’t dance, but this… this he could do. This he could do quite happily for the rest of his days. Even if, when he looked up and saw that Frohike and Langly and Doggett and Jimmy were all back at the table watching, he couldn’t help but to roll his eyes; they were encouraging him as well as trying to coax him to kiss you, to grab your ass - but he did none of those things, preferring to just hold you, the sound of your heartbeat was the music on his paper and the wind within his sails in that moment, and as he closed his eyes, he allowed himself to get lost in the sensation - you in his arms, your heart beating in time with his, nothing needed to be said, nothing needed to be done, Byers was just happy to have you in his arms, to be holding you and held by you, to have you so near that it drowned out the crowd, to know that no matter what happened and no matter who said what or did what, to know that no matter what the world did to try and take you away from him… you never left his side, because he never left yours. Sure, you went away for weeks at a time to do your job, but what power would distance have over memories? What power would distance have, when Byers knew that all he had to do was grab his laptop, and providing you were at home, start a video call with you? What power would distance have when Byers knew that, no matter how far apart you would ever be, no matter what time of day it was, no matter if it was raining or snowing or hailing or thundering or beating down with sun, when he knew that your heart was as tied to his as his was to yours? Distance had no power at all. And as he held you, Byers started to realise that; he started to realise it even though he knew that he would still miss you so dearly and awfully when you were gone, he knew that he would still ache and yearn for your touch and to hear your voice and to kiss your lips - but distance would never truly tear you apart. 

Back over at the table, though, the four companions sat sipping their drinks and watching, making conversation whilst they waited for you and Byers to return to the table, waiting for the dance to be over but also wanting you and Byers to have as much time together as you could. 

“Y’know, I’m glad Byers finally has somebody,” Jimmy commented with a nod and a genuine smile as he looked over to where you and Byers were dancing together. “He seems happy when he’s around (y/n).” 

Langly nodded, having at first thought that you were suspicious, he had to admit, you had grown on him like moss on a tree’s trunk, you had grown on him, and he had come to the conclusion that you weren’t all bad. “Yeah, I gotta admit, they do seem really happy together.” 

“And now that Byers has fixed things with (y/n)’s father, it should get better for them, right?” Frohike mused, bringing his glass to his lips and draining the contents before slamming it back down onto the coaster. 

“Should be,” Doggett agreed with a nod. “Although I do wonder how Byers is gonna react when he finds out that (y/n)’s already signed up for the rodeo.” 

“Already?” Langly questioned, furrowing his brows and recoiling slightly, not really sure how to react exactly. 

“Already,” Doggett nodded again, a slight hum in the back of his throat as he dared to sigh, scratching at the spot just below his ear. “Practice starts tomorrow, apparently, then the big event’s next week - I thought I’d invite Scully and Mulder down but… they’re workin’ a case, so they can’t make it.” 

Frohike raised a brow at that, his entire focus shifting to the FBI agent. “Scully and Mulder were gonna come down here?”

Doggett spared a look at you and Byers for a moment, happy that you had found such a partner, that you had found someone to be happy with and someone to be both alone with and to waste time with, and he guessed he was also happy that Byers had found the same in you, although he didn’t know the man well enough to make a judgement on it entirely; running a hand through his hair, Doggett leaned back in his chair a little. “I was gonna invite them to come down for the rodeo, see (y/n) in action, y’know? But then they got a case, somethin’ to do with werewolves according to Mulder, so I figured it could wait.” 

Grinning from ear to ear, you dragged Byers back over to the table, letting him sit down before you stole back your own seat and brought your legs up to rest on his thighs, lovestruck puppy-dog grins that were so sweet that they rotted teeth. 

“Anybody ready to grab a bite and head home?” Doggett asked with a raised brow. “Or are we gonna get another quick round, first?”

『••✎••』

Practicing for rodeos was a lot of hard work, if you were honest, and most of the time it was hardly worth it in terms of profit - but you loved it, you genuinely enjoyed rodeos, even if practice was gruelling and hard and definitely left you with more bruises than you first went in with, a lot more rips in your jeans than you needed, a lot more calluses on your hands and a lot more little cuts and large cuts that would definitely scar up on your hands and arms and back; rodeos were hard, they were tough, and they were not for those who did not expect to get hurt. Rodeos weren’t just fun and games, you knew all too well of the stories of people who had been hurt and killed whilst taking part in one, you knew all too well of the horror stories and could recite them off by heart - you had even seen a few come to life now and again. It was a little safer than regular cowboying, though, if only because of the clowns and the fences, if only by a very small, seemingly insignificant, difference; your father had arranged for one of the neighbouring farms to lend you their bull, who had never been used for rodeo practice before, which you were somewhat nervous about - not knowing the animal often meant that you didn’t know what was normal behaviour for it, but you got by that. Even if he did buck you off enough to give you a fair few good bruises, most of which Doggett checked over and said that you were fine, you would just need some ice and painkillers - he was stood beside your father throughout the whole session, one leg up and resting his boot on a lower panel, his arms hung over the panel up by his chest, squinting to keep the sun from his eyes as he tried to make sure that you weren’t going to get killed. Your father, on the other hand, was encouraging you and telling you what to do and how to do it, calling out and shouting but still patient and gentle - he would have been in the ring with you, but he knew he was too old for it, now, all he could do was to call out advice; didn’t stop him from wincing and seething and cringing whenever you got bucked off, whenever your shoulder smashed into the fence, whenever you came tumbling down onto the ground in a puff of yellow smoke. You were thankful, however, that Byers was off doing something else on the ranch, as you knew that, if he saw you fall, if he saw you crash and roll, if he saw every single time you had gotten hurt, he would have panicked massively; your back ached the most, right behind your ribs, and you could feel how tense your shoulders were as you grabbed the horn of the bull’s saddle, your foot in the stirrup. 

“Careful!” Your father and Doggett called out in sync, sharing a look and laughing for a second before turning back to you and watching as you got up in the saddle, holding on so tightly to the horn that you were positive that it would break and snap and crumble in your hands. 

“Easy does it!” Your father called, swallowing thickly and furrowing his brows as he watched the bull start to sway for a second before kicking into motion; it was a worrying sight, to see you so close to an animal that, without even meaning to, could so easily kill you - it was a worrying sight to know that one wrong move, one wrong move that would end up with the tips of those sharp horns buried in your internal, major, organs and you were over and done with for good. Doggett held onto the stopwatch, timing you, and he had to admit, he was pretty impressed. 

But just as you were about to beat your previous time, the bull bucked you off, and you went flying over the fence, crashing on your back and groaning loudly as the two older gentlemen came skidding down to your side. 

“Are you alright?” Doggett asked, checking your head and neck for injuries, biting at the inside of his lip. “(Y/N)?”

You groaned, sitting up slowly and scoffing, shaking your head to clear it of the murkiness that came with getting thrown, you let out a heavy sigh and grumbled. “I’m good, Uncle Doggett, I’m good.” 

Your father and Doggett shared a look, and the latter shook his head and slapped your shoulder, causing you to let out a hiss of agony from between your clenched teeth. “Take a break, kid, we can come back to it tomorrow, or whenever you’re feeling right - right?” 

When he turned to your father, all your father could reply with was a nod and a frown. “Right. Take a break, kiddo, go lie down or something.” 

You did as they said, thanking Doggett when he gave you your hat, which was more yellow than black now thanks to the dust that clung onto the fabric, brushing off your shoulders and your jeans, shaking your head as you dared to wander around the ranch; Langly was with your grandmother in the kitchen helping with the cooking, as was Frohike, who was doing some maintenance here and there and almost about everywhere and Jimmy was just sat at the table talking to them all, all of them crowded in there and getting along just fine and dandy, really, which made you smile a little as you nodded at them before you went over to where the trees were - there was one in particular, one with your own initials carved into it from years and years and years ago, and as you climbed it, you could feel yourself relaxing. You were glad that you didn’t see Byers around, not wanting him to see you so achy and run down, so in pain and wounded. 

But he was around, wandering around aimlessly, knowing that there wasn’t actually much that he could do; but it was hot, unfortunately, and he could feel the air burning his throat with each breath that he took, he could feel his hair becoming flat and damp with sweat, so he paused under the tree you were in, not knowing you were there and not even thinking to look up, all he wanted was some shade and a chance to cool down. Softly, he laid his blazer on the ground, not wanting to stain his trousers with yellow dirt, his back resting firmly against the trunk. 

“Fuckin’ Hell,” you grumbled from above, causing him to look up at you and see what you were doing; you were on a higher branch, your legs bent and the heels of your boots pressed against the dark brown oak, your arms folded across your chest and your hat tilted and tipped forward to cover your eyes. 

Admittedly, Byers did want to question it, but he decided against it, daring to smile so fondly as he looked at you for a second before deciding to follow suit, crossing his arms and kicking one leg out, hanging his head and closing his eyes as he tried his best not to think about how you could possibly sleep up there without worrying about falling out, without panicking that you would crash or the branch would break, and while he was a little worried, he wasn’t so awfully worried that he was about to disturb you to get you to move, he wanted you to rest, more than anything, especially in such heat. 

When Byers woke up again, he looked up, and could faintly hear you snoring and snorting in your sleep, which made him smile as he stretched and clicked his back and his knees, stiff from staying in the same position for so long, but when he looked at you, all he could do was smile to himself; he had ever seen you so peaceful, so tranquil and relaxed, he had never known you to sleep for so long completely undisturbed and without waking up even once; he was glad that you didn’t wake up, and when Doggett came over, Byers couldn’t help but to shake his head. 

“Agent Doggett, (y/n)’s asleep, and-” 

“I know, but I gotta check ‘em over,” Doggett told him with a shrug and a soft growl; it wasn’t that he wanted to wake you up, it wasn’t that he wanted to disturb you and to jostle you and to yank you out of whatever sweet and soft dream you were having, but he had to, he had to make sure that you weren’t going to need to go to the hospital, and that you wouldn’t have to pull out of the rodeo before you even had a chance to try and win it. “Trust me, Byers, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t need to.” 

Grumbling, Byers stepped aside, picking his blazer up and smacking it in order to get the dust off of it as well as any small invertebrates that may have crawled onto the fabric or into the pockets; he watched with worry when you got down from the tree, grumbling and groaning, looking about as battered and bruised as anything, it made Byers frown as he dared to step in. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothin’, sugar, don’t worry,” you shook your head. “Rodeo trainin’ gone wrong’s all.” 

Grabbing your shoulder with one hand, Byers searched every single feature on your face, every strand of hair, every bit of skin he could touch, for some kind of injury, worried beyond belief and starting to panic as he asked you a thousand and one questions about how you felt, where your pain was, what exactly had happened and when and how; it made you roll your eyes as you allowed him to search you head to toe, you didn’t have the heart to push him away, and what was more, you thought it was actually quite cute that he was so worried over something so small - but then Doggett ruined the moment, gently pushing Byers away before shaking his head at you. 

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” 

“Fine, Uncle Doggett,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “C’mon, I’ve had worse than this whilst out on cattle drives before, it ain’t no big thing.” 

Doggett and Byers didn’t seem convinced, but both knew that they would never convince you otherwise, so they walked you back over to the pen where the neighbour’s bull was being housed for the week, and Byers took his place next to Doggett, holding onto the tallest fence panel and swallowing thickly as he watched you mount up and tip your hat at them. 

“Careful!” The three men called out, none of them noticing that, with the exception of your grandmother, everyone else had come to watch, too. 

“I’m always goddamn fuckin’ careful!” You shouted back, blowing a kiss to Byers before taking in a long breath and leaning down so that you could murmur to the bull. “Hey, feller, work with me on this one, please?” 

The bull snorted, shaking his head before setting into gear and starting to attempt to throw you and buck you off and do anything to get you off of his back - but you stayed on, clinging onto the ancient saddle horn with a grip tight enough to bend steel, trying to keep your balance as you clung on and did your best not to think about anything except staying on; you thought yourself lucky when the bull, tired and unbothered, stopped and started to munch on the hay in the far side, no longer caring that you were on his back as you grinned over at Byers with a wink. 

“See? I know what I’m doin’, John.” 

“Just be careful, please!” Byers shouted back, turning to Jimmy and Langly and Frohike and shaking his head. “I don’t want to watch, if anything happens-” 

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Langly shook his head, peering over Byers’ shoulder just in time to watch the bull start up again. “(y/n) knows what they’re doing, Byers.” 

“I know, but…” he sighed, shrugging. “I worry.” 

“I think that fence has more to worry about than (y/n) does,” Frohike admitted, stepping slightly aside in order to watch you past Byers. 

Jimmy laid his hand on Byers’ shoulder, smiling and shaking his head, always so happy go lucky and optimistic and very much like a golden retriever puppy. “Don’t worry about it, Byers, we all know that (y/n) know what they’re doing, and they have Doggett and their dad there to help, too - what’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Thanks, Jimmy, that’s just ten more things I’ve added to my list of things to worry about,” Byers gave him a false smile before turning around, sighing relief to see that you were still on the bull’s back, still holding onto the saddle horn and not even slipping, now. Sure, Byers knew that you were a professional at it, he knew that, as a cowboy, the rodeo was just one of those things that came along with it, and it didn’t help that your father was a rodeo champion, either, so it was not that he had a lack of confidence in you at all, he knew that you could do it, with all of his heart, he knew that you had the know-how and the skills and the ability to do it… but that didn’t stop him from worrying about you getting hurt - he had seen videos where people had gotten mauled and killed by bulls whilst doing a rodeo, he had seen and read up on all of the horror stories, and to see you taking part in it… it scared him, the same way that it scared him when you went out on a cattle drive during a bleak winter where there were several weather warnings and a risk to life warning out. Cowboying and rodeos were just too unpredictable for reasons that no one could contain or control, they were dangerous things to do, and there was nothing to take away from that danger, the unpredictability of everything and anything surrounding those two occupations were… well, the more Byers thought about it, the more worried he grew, the more scared on your behalf he became, biting at the inside of his top lip until it was raw and red and bleeding, his hands shaking as he gripped onto the light brown fence panel, eyes wide and his breath heavy as he did his best not to worry too much, as he did his best to just watch you work. He did not want to watch it at all, but then you grinned at him, waving and daring to stand up on the saddle, showing off for him… until the bull abruptly stopped in his tracks and you, once again, went flying and crashing onto the floor in a cloud of yellow smoke. 

This time, you had been hurt, although not massively, just a few cuts and grazes here and there, mostly just bruising that would heal up in a few days if anyone was honest, but Byers didn’t leave your side for a single second, holding your hand tightly and apologising again and again and again, but for what you could not understand; for what, you could not find it in yourself to care about, all that mattered was that he was there, with you, beside you, holding your hand and letting you squeeze his when the antiseptic wipes grew too painful with their thousands of little stings on your open cuts. But then you went outside for a cigarette, sat on the second to last step on the porch, smoking and breathing pale grey smoke into the air, hands between your spread legs, you knew that the stains in your jeans and shirt would never come out, those dirt and blood stains would be there forever now, but you didn’t care; you knew you looked beaten up and battered and bruised and bloody, but you didn’t mind it so much - all part of the job hazard, right? It was the sweat rolling down your back that got to you, though, cold and making you shiver and cringe as you did your best not to think about it, not to notice; you couldn’t believe you were so stupid as to let yourself show off and act like a fool, you should have known better - you should have never even tried to take your mind off of the bull. Fuck, you were miserable, not to mention exhausted. 

“I just wanted to admit that I’m sorry for distracting you,” Byers said as he came to sit beside you, his head on your shoulder, his hand on your thigh, a soft and low hum coming from the back of his throat. “But, for, for what it’s worth? I think you’re… I think you’re gonna do great at the rodeo.” 

You relaxed into his touch, letting out a noise of incoherent agreement as you felt everything just… melt away like marbled snow; the misery went away first, followed by the exhaustion, the guilt, the self-loathing, it melted away and disappeared. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you reassured, grabbing his hand from your thigh and pressing his knuckles to your lips. “I’m sorry I worried you so much…” 

Byers chuckled softly at that, shaking his head and moving that little bit closer, trying to get as much contact as he could. “You’re my, you’re my cowboy, (y/n), it’s my job to worry about you…” he looked down at the cigarette between your fingers. “You really should quit those.” 

“More chance of me quittin’ be a cowboy,” you joked, rolling your eyes with a bitten back but nevertheless fond smile. 

“At least go and get washed and changed?” He suggested with a raised brow, but it only made you laugh and shake your head, daring to push him away enough so that you could kiss his forehead and run a hand through his hair. 

“I love you, John.” 

“I love you, too.” 

『••✎••』

The week went as somewhat usual, if you were honest, not a lot of particularly eventful things had happened and not a lot had been needed to be done, but it was the night of the rodeo when you truly began to feel the pressure of it; sneaking down the stairs to have a cigarette, breathing erratic and heavy, your throat felt tight and raw and as if it had not touched a drop of water for years, your stomach was in utter knots and your hands could not shaking no matter what you did or how you tried to react to it; you had never been so nervous before a rodeo before, and you did have to wonder if it had anything to do with a certain investigative journalist being in your presence, you did have to wonder if you wanted to perform well for him to be able to prove that you were actually good enough and that you were worth his time; you did have to wonder if Byers being there definitely amplified your nervousness and your insomnia in a way that you could not quite comprehend properly or even begin to understand enough in order to explain it. You weren’t sure what to do, in all honesty, as although you normally went and woke your father up to sit with him and talk through those last minute jitters and anxieties and nerves, you felt bad for doing so now; you considered waking Doggett up, too, and wondering if he had any advice on how to help with such an immense force of nervousness and anxiety and worry, but when you thought about it, you knew that he wouldn’t have a lot of other ways to cope. So instead, you took to rolling yourself a cigarette, and pacing around the kitchen as you did your best to calm down, to steady yourself and to try and defeat the way you felt; but you knew that it was always going to be fruitless, you knew that no matter what you did, they would get a hold of you, you would never be free, they would never let you go; it was getting harder and harder to breathe as you wandered around the kitchen and puffed on your cigarette, focusing on the orange glow at the end of it, how it beamed through the burnt tobacco and paper, how it looked like a light at the end of the tunnel. Fuck, you wanted to sleep so bad, you really did, but you knew that, until the anxiety and the nervousness melted away, insomnia would have you in its jaws, snapped and locked on, holding onto you with such force that it could out-do an alligator; you were well and truly trapped, and if you were honest, you were running out of ideas of what to do and what could possibly help, you were running out of ways to try and relax yourself and to calm yourself, but nothing was working, and you knew that nothing would ever work. 

『••✎••』

Byers crept into the kitchen, following the dimly glowing yellow light, but he was startled, flinching and nearly clutching his chest, breathing out a soft “good lord”, when he realised that you were still wide awake; he had not expected you to be up and about and wandering around, as far as he was aware it was very much past two o’clock in the morning, now, and to see you coolly smoking a cigarette had almost certainly not been what he had expected to see when he had wandered down. You didn’t even notice him, staring at the orange end of the cigarette you were smoking, clearly a hand-rolled one, completely oblivious to the world around you, and it made Byers frown as he came to stand beside you, pressing his forehead against your temple and laying his arm around your neck so that his hand was firmly on your chest. He could feel your thundering heartbeat as you leaned into him, sighing heavily and shaking your head at yourself; exhaustion and misery were thick in your voice, filled with nervousness and anxiety, too. 

“I’m so sorry, I was a million miles away…” 

“I know,” his voice was so soft, so reassuring, so soothing as he took in the sight of your eyes; you were exhausted, and he could tell just from the sound of your voice and your eyes, and he hated that. “What’s wrong?” 

You brought your free hand up to lay it on the one of his that was on your chest, and you let out a heavy sigh as if you could not quite catch your breath just yet. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, city boy… ain’t nothin’ you need to be concerned with. I’m alright.” You turned your head slightly so that your nose was against his, and you frowned, hoping your voice didn’t crack too much as you said, “your cowboy’s alright. Don’t worry.” 

“I always worry,” Byers admitted, a soft confession leaving his lips as he dared to move to kiss your cheek, he was so gentle and so tender, he was so sweet. “Come back to bed, please… come back to me?” 

“Lemme finish this,” you grumbled, pulling away entirely to take a drag from your cigarette. “Lemme finish this, first, and I’ll come.” 

Byers watched you puffed on your cigarette, smoking it right down to just before the filter before you finally put it out; he really did wish that you would quit, but all the same, he could live with a filthy habit or two. He was just worried about you. 

“John?” 

“Yeah?” There was a slight softness to his voice that went beyond trying to ensure that he was speaking quietly enough as not to wake anyone up. 

“I’ll always come back to you,” you said gently, offering a sad smile as you dared to grip his hand and kiss his knuckles. “You know that, right?” 

“I know,” he nodded, pulling you close so that he could kiss your forehead. “Are you going to come back to me, now?” 

“Yeah,” you smiled a bit less sadly, letting him guide you through the hallways and into your bedroom, letting him pull you down onto his body as he crashed on the bed, letting you bury your face in the crook of his neck as you gripped onto him tightly and grumbled his name softly; his arms were around you tightly, and he couldn’t deny that he loved the way you felt in his arms. “John?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Wanna sing Daddy Sang Bass by Johnny Cash to me?” you joked, laughing softly and quietly against him. 

“Maybe if it wasn’t four o’clock in the morning, I would.” 

『••✎••』

At the outdoor centre where the rodeo was to be held, you stood with Byers and Langly and Frohike and Jimmy and Leah, who were all offering words of encouragement as you sat on a crate and bounced your leg, chewing at your lip and occasionally pausing to take a swig from your iced coffee and to have a cigarette; Doggett was yet to show up, having said something about a couple of his friends and colleagues that were going to attend to support you, so he was in the carpark with your father, your grandmother, however, was off flirting with one of the very handsome men who worked with the animals to make sure that they were healthy and uninjuried as well as to make sure that they weren’t too stressed out and too excited. 

“You’ll do just fine,” Byers said as he held your hat for you and smiled oh so fondly and oh so kindly, his gaze soft as he fiddled with the brim of the black hat. “I know you will.” 

You scoffed, shaking your head and frantically draining your iced coffee of any liquid that was once in it, gasping for air as you looked between the four men with a frown. “What if I fuck up? What if I lose?” 

Langly shook his head, offering a kind smile as he laid a hand on your shoulder and cleared his throat. “We all saw you practicing, (y/n), you’ll do great.” 

“Yeah,” Frohike agreed with a nod. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.” 

“You’re such a dick,” Leah grinned, shaking her head fondly. “You know you’re gonna win this, babe, you have it in the bag.”

“And we’ll be right there cheering you on!” Jimmy grinned, holding up the sign that he had made with such pride; it was a simple cardboard piece, big enough to be seen for miles, slathered in red paint that read: “GO (Y/N)!” 

You smiled at how daft he was, smiled at how much they believed in you; but you knew that, out there, anything could happen the second you were on that animal, anything could happen from the very second you clambered over the metal fence to get in the saddle. You knew all too well that anything could happen, that no matter what you did or how much you practiced, rodeos were about as unpredictable as cowboying - a wild cougar or a bear might not be a problem at a rodeo, but getting serious injuries and even dying almost certainly was. You couldn’t stop shaking as you reached for Byers’ hand, gripping it tightly, so tightly that you worried that you might accidentally break the fragile bones as you pulled him down enough to press your head against his stomach, frowning and wrapping your free arm around his waist, closing your eyes and swallowing thickly; fuck it was hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe, and your heart was pounding. It was racing. It was racing, and you were shaking. You were trembling. You were trembling, and your mind was running like a spooked horse. You were so goddamn nervous, more so than you had been any and every other time you had been to a rodeo, so goddamn nervous that you didn’t know what to do with yourself except bury your head against Byers and pray that it all went well. Where was your Uncle Doggett? Where was your father? Where was your gran- she was off flirting with various men, now, nobody would see her until the rodeo started… or at least until it was your turn to try and win the competition. Where was Doggett? Where was your father? What was taking them so long? Why did they have to leave you all alone and oh so awfully fearful and nervous and-

“(Y/N)!” Doggett called, waving over at your little group, and when you looked up at him, you could see two people you had never seen before trailing behind; one was quite short, red hair down to their shoulders. The other was quite tall, dark brown hair styled to give an inch or two of extra height despite the fact that they definitely did not need it. They both smiled kindly at you when they drew close enough. 

“Hi,” the red-head extended their hand. “I’m Dana Scully.” 

“Uh, hi,” you shook her hand, your own trembling something fierce. 

“Fox Mulder,” the brunette told you with a nod. 

“Hey,” you greeted, reluctantly pulling away from Byers and trying to gather your strength and your breath, trying to steel your nerves as you dared to stand up, clearing your throat and offering the two an uneasy smile. 

“Scully and Mulder here work with me from time to time,” Doggett explained, “and they’ve worked with Byers before, too.” 

“The Lone Gunmen are often asked to help with some FBI cases, it’s rare but… it happens,” Byers told you, wrapping an arm around you and keeping you close, knowing that your legs were weak from shot nerves and bubbling anxiety. “Scully and Mulder are friends of ours.” 

Scully recognised it instantly, the protective arm around a partner, the closeness that was definitely not platonic, the soft and gentle gaze, she recognised it instantly; she knew, with just a few seconds of looking, that you were almost definitely the cowboy that Byers had told them about time and time again, and when she looked at the other Gunmen, she knew that her theory was right. You were Byers’ cowboy. When she looked at Mulder, though, she knew that he had yet to grasp it, that he had yet to clock on as to why Byers was the one holding you and gazing at you, she knew that he was thinking that you and Byers were just a little bit closer than everyone else, that you and Byers were just friends. And it made her smile to herself as she shook her head fondly before turning her gaze to you. 

“So, you’re taking part in the rodeo?” She asked kindly. 

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, stuttering and stumbling over that one stupid word, hardly able to speak your nerves and anxiety were through the roof so badly and you weren’t sure how to control it. 

“We watched (y/n) practice every day,” Byers said quite proudly, as if there was some unspoken bond there that Scully recognised instantly, that kind of pride only came with… well, it was the type of pride that one could only express for one’s significant other. And there was certainly no mistaking it when he grinned at you, so full of pride and fondness, so full of pride and love that it practically screamed into the air. “They’ve got this rodeo in the bag.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as you grumbled and looked back at him. “You’re only saying that.” 

“He’s not,” Langly, Frohike, Doggett, Jimmy, your father and Leah all said in unison, which caused Doggett’s two guests to laugh softly. 

“We’re gonna write a story about it, too, though,” Frohike added, causing you to do a double take as you glared at him. 

“Since when?” 

“Since I asked,” Byers admitted. “Of course, we won’t if you’re not comfortable with it, it just-” 

“No, run with it,” you shook your head, looking at him and daring to smile. “I just… fuck, the nerves have got me shot to shit if I’m honest.” 

“Maybe we should give them some space,” Scully suggested, looking around the large group and gesturing for them to follow; they were all quite glad to, in all honesty, scurrying to find their places so that, when it was your time, they could all watch and cheer you on - but one person stayed behind. Byers. He didn’t want to leave your side, letting you nuzzle into him and hold him tightly, he could feel your leg bouncing, your knee rubbing against his leg as he held you tightly and whispered sweet things to you, honeyed words of reassurance, candy coated words of encouragement that made you nod against him. Knowing that everyone was waiting for you, that they were rooting for you and would still cheer you on regardless of how well you did definitely helped; knowing that Byers, whether you won or lost, would still love you just the same and would still look at you the same way, without an ounce of upset or disappointment or resentment. It very much helped, and you did somewhat find your confidence, your nerves did eventually calm down a little and mellow out; sure, you were still nervous and anxious and an absolute wreck, but you felt a little bit better with each and every moment that passed you by, you could relax enough to finally breathe, to finally feel like you weren’t drowning and suffocating thanks to your own lungs betraying you. 

“John?” You hummed, looking up at Byers and frowning a little, still shot to shit with nerves. 

“Yeah?”

“You’ll give me a kiss for good luck,” you rubbed the back of your neck, chuckling nervously. “Won’t you?” 

“I’ll give you ten kisses for good luck if you want me to.” 

When your name was called for the competition, Byers gave you ten kisses and one hundred words of praises and encouragement and confidence, telling you that no matter what you did, no matter what the outcome was, that he was proud of you, and that you had done a good job already; but even still, he gave you an extra ten kisses and an extra one hundred words when you clambered over the gate to get in the saddle, another ten and one hundred just before the gate opened and he had to dart over to where everyone was standing so he could watch, in quiet resign and with hope in his eyes and his heart thundering like the applause of those around him, his fingers gripping the metal bar as he stood on the fence panels, it was cold against his skin thanks to being in the shade, and despite the fact that people he considered friends were right beside him - to the left, Langly and Jimmy and Scully, to the right, Frohike and Doggett and Mulder - he could only keep his eyes on you; rodeos were short and sweet most of the time, rodeos were over sooner rather than later, but as Byers stood and watched, he thought it had lasted hours and hours, a loud roaring eternity like that spent at a party thrown by none other than the Great Jay Gatsby, a loud, roaring, gushing, thundering eternity where his heart was halfway up his throat and his palms were getting sweaty despite the cool steel beneath them, he could feel his breath hitch right in the cavity where his heart used to be every single time that you were almost thrown or bucked off or rammed up against the fencing. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for you out there in that pen, getting thrown about and bucked by a nokota horse, he didn’t really want to in all honesty, he was too scared; Byers never understood the level of confidence and lack of fear that you needed to have to be a cowboy, let alone to do rodeos, he never understood but he admired it, he admired it greatly and couldn’t help but to grin. He even managed to let out a few cheers here and there, although he did wince at the volume of his own voice and recoil from it, hoping that you wouldn’t notice and that you wouldn’t get distracted like you did last time. He was practically leaning over the edge of the fence when the time was called and the scores came through; it was agony to wait for those scores, but when that 95 came up, the final and best score of the competition, your immediate reaction was to run over to Byers, nearly flinging yourself over the fence as you gripped his shoulders and pulled him in so closely and held him tightly; caught off guard completely and utterly, Byers’ surprise only grew when you kissed him harshly and heavily, nearly falling against him and off of the fence - when you pulled away, though, you finally clambered over, and hugged Byers again, properly - one arm under his, your hand right in the middle of his back as he flung his arm over your shoulder, your other arm wrapped around his far shoulder and coming to lay on his shoulder-blade as he pressed himself into you, letting time slip away for a moment, not caring that you dripped sweat onto his blazer, not caring that you stunk to high heaven and back… he was proud of you, prouder than any man could be of his significant other, grinning into your shoulder as he chuckled. 

“You did it!” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pulling you in that little bit closer as he wished to never let you go, to never dare to quit you. He really did not care about anything else in that moment, only you, only ever you. 

“I fucking did it!” You howled, throwing your head back before capturing his lips in a harsh and rough kiss, full of ecstasy and fire, complete and utter passion and devotion, nothing but the sheer joy and glee of having done it, of having finished with such a good score, the winning score, the relief. “John, I… I fucking did it!” 

Byers couldn’t speak, too overcome with glee to even bother as he held you so tightly to his body, as he basked in your warmth and your joy and your glee and your pride and your relief and your fire, he wished he could stay there forever in that moment; he wished he could relive it every single day for the rest of his life, every single moment. That was all he wanted, all he wanted was to be able to bask in that moment like a lizard in the sun. 

But moments didn’t last forever, and spending another minute wrapped up in one another was more or less forbidden as you were gently torn from Byers’ grasp by your family, your friends, all ready to congratulate the winner, to sing your praises and howl your cheers, but even when you were dishing out hugs and accepting praises and well dones, even when you were being praised and cheered and celebrated for your win, all you could do was to look at Byers, unable to keep the smile from your lips as you grinned and fought your way back to him, fought your way back into his embrace before you finally settled in his arms once again, finally settled in his embrace and continued to accept the warm words, the honeyed words, the candy coated words, the words that were so sweet that they made your teeth feel like they were rotting - nothing but good things to be said, nothing but good times to be had, nothing but celebration and relief flooding through the veins. Jimmy’s sign had been abandoned against the fence, still leaning against the cool metal in the shade of the larger tents, you weren’t sure who was saying what, such a mangled tangle of voices, but you knew enough about them, you knew that the words made you smile at Byers, gripping his hand tightly and pressing his knuckles to your lips; maybe he was your lucky charm, you thought, maybe it would be better if he and his friends moved onto the ranch, you thought, maybe that way you could always have your lucky charm near, you thought, maybe that way you wouldn’t have to pine and yearn after one another for weeks, you thought, maybe that way the next rodeo you do you can test if Byers really was your lucky charm, you thought. But even still, you were growing tired, as rodeos were always exhausting, having to put every ounce of your strength into staying on the damn animal and not getting disqualified, and the heat above certainly did not help either, the heat was making you worse as you yawned and leaned more into Byers, practically using him to prop yourself up as you grumbled and shook your head, trying to also ignore the way your throat screamed for water and your stomach howled for food, trying to ignore every single one of your organs screaming for water, food, sleep, just so that you could spend a few extra minutes with Byers, just so you could revel in your success with him that little bit more, just a little bit more, a few moments was all you wanted, perhaps not even that - but your body was protesting more and more despite your constant fighting against it, so when everyone finally quietened down, you dared to speak up, laughing softly. 

“I’m fuckin’ starvin’, how do y’all fancy goin’ and grabbin’ a bite to eat?” You asked, shrugging and still clinging onto Byers, you could always sleep on the way there, you could sleep on the Gunmen’s van or in Doggett’s car, you supposed, there was bound to be somewhere to sleep on the ride there and, no doubt, also a bottle of water beneath a passenger seat or hidden in a cup holder somewhere, and even if there wasn’t, you didn’t exactly care as everyone sang out their agreements, as they cried out in confirmation and suggestions; but that was always the problem - getting everyone to decide on one place to eat… but, after careful deliberation, it seemed as if the favourite, the one that had everyone agreeing, was none other than a chip shop in town, a chip shop that was cheap and cheerful and greasy and absolutely lovely - it made you grin as you agreed before asking the Gunmen if you could hitch a ride with them, and of course, Byers agreed to it right away. 

『••✎••』

Everyone was home safe and sound at the ranch, you hung out with Scully a little here and there and discovered that she was unsurprisingly a very easy person to get along with, she offered you and Byers some advice, and when you admitted to her that you had thought of asking the Gunmen to stay, to relocate to the ranch, she was in support of it; you had a lamb in your arms, carrying it due to the fact that it was following you everywhere and you worried for its safety, and although Byers looked over a lot, smiling and thinking to himself what an adorable sight it was to see you cuddling into such a small creature, he didn’t dare to bend over to try and pet it when you approached him, Langly, Frohike and Jimmy. 

“Guys, can we talk?” You asked, looking between them and frowning a little, a bit nervous and unsure of whether or not you knew how to ask the question; you had already cleared it with your father, who had voiced his support of it and said that they wouldn’t need to pay rent so long as they helped out from time to time with things like shearing and the crops and even helping you with your rodeo and cowboy work - the latter of which you knew Byers would have been over the moon about. 

“Sure,” Byers nodded, looking between his three friends before returning your gaze and offering one of his stupid smiles that made your heart ache for him. 

“I, uh, I was talkin’ to my dad, and to Scully, and, uh…” you adjusted your grip on the lamp when you felt it was about to slip from you. “How would y’all feel ‘bout movin’ out here? With us? Y’know, re… relocatin’’?”

In truth, they had discussed the very thing, they had talked it through but had decided that, unless if you gave the confirmation, they would not say anything about it; but now Byers had a hard time of fighting back his smile as he looked between his three colleagues before looking back at you and grinning. “We’ve, uh, we’ve talked about that, actually, and we said-”

“Yes!” Jimmy barked, nodding eagerly and grinning from ear to ear as you lowered the lamb to the ground and allowed it to run off.

It made you roll your eyes as you fondly shook your head, scratching the side of your nose as you tried to hide your own smile. “Y’all sure? I mean, I don’t-”

“We’re sure,” Frohike answered with a kind smile. “We, uh, we all quite like it here, (y/n).” 

“Yeah, and even better it means I’d, I’d, y’know, I’d actually get to see you,” Byers added. He rubbed the back of his neck, his features turning a little pink. 

“I could take you out on cattle drives with me,” you said gently. “But are y’all sure you wanna stay? I mean-”

“We already said yes,” Langly chuckled, clapping your shoulder and smiling at you. “Listen, Frohike and me will set our things up - Jimmy, could you go and grab Scully and Doggett? We’re gonna need their help.” 

“Sure!” Jimmy grinned, taking off in the opposite direction to where Langly and Frohike walked, leaving you and Byers alone for a moment. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he told you gently, gazing deep into your eyes and smiling. 

“It’s rotten work, John,” you muttered. 

“Not to me,” he replied, shaking his head. “Not if it’s you.” He tugged on the hem of your jacket to bring you close enough that he could kiss you, your lips meeting in what seemed to be a consuming fire, burning you both brilliantly, and while it started off slow, the speed of the kiss and the neediness of it only increasing when you gripped onto his belt and pulled him in closer, letting him deepen the kiss until you were completely breathless, until you could do nothing but grin. 

“John… I really do love you, y’know,” you murmured, tugging on his tie gently and smiling at him. 

“I know,” he whispered back, unsure of how to react, whether to kiss you, whether to just let you do what you wanted. “I love you, too.” 

“I’m glad you came here,” you told him softly, keeping your voice low, as if raising the volume ever so slightly would cause the very fabric of the earth and the universe to shatter and smash like a dropped plate, pieces flying everywhere. “I dunno if I told you, John, but I have fuckin’ adored havin’ you here, and I… is it selfish to say that I didn’t want you to leave?” 

“Maybe,” he hummed, shrugging and kissing your forehead sweetly. “But I don’t think it’s the bad kind of selfish…”

You hummed lowly, tugging his tie again so that he moved slightly, giving you access to kiss his neck oh so sweetly. “Cowboys are allowed to be selfish, right?”

“Cowboys are allowed to be selfish.” Byers confirmed, blushing furiously as you kissed his neck; he did love the way you kissed his neck, and he did love that you were his cowboy and he was your city boy. And who knows? Maybe things would turn out all okay, maybe The Lone Gunmen newspaper would thrive a little better now that they didn’t have to worry about paying so much rent and trying to scrape by and decide whether to publish or to be able to have shelter. Maybe now he wouldn’t yearn so much and pine so much and wish to be beside you beneath the full moon every night; maybe now you wouldn’t be so lonely when you were at home and when you were out beneath the stars at night. Maybe your insomnia would calm down, maybe you wouldn’t sing that lonesome song that every sad, sad cowboy sang at the moon with their head tilted back and their breath visible in a pale grey fog. 

“Come on,” you hummed softly, pulling away from him and grasping his hand, holding it tightly. “Why don’t we go and grab your stuff and, maybe, I dunno, we could move it into my room?” 

Byers nodded slowly, biting at his lip as he swallowed thickly and let out a hitched breath from the back of his throat. “I would… I would… I would like that, a lot.”

“Well, c’mon, then, city boy!” You grinned, tugging at his hand a little harder with a bit more eagerness. “C’mon!” 

“I’m coming,” Byers chuckled softly, ready to follow you wherever you wanted to go and all the way back, so long as he was allowed to hold your hand. “I’m right behind you.”


End file.
